The Road Not Taken
by Drovenich
Summary: He was ambitious. He was proud. And he was happy. Alfred F. Jones flew alongside the greatest aces in the world, escaping from the greatest perils of war victorious. Until he was shot down in Axis territory. World War II AU. AmeGer, EngCan.
1. Prologue

**Dro:** Embarrassingly enough, I honestly forgot to post this here. I wrote it last week and posted it to LJ...Oops. Anyway, with **A Crack in the Looking Glass** drawing to a close and **Solemnity** finished, it's time for a new story! And here it is, the promised World War II AU fic!

**Chapter Summary:** Fighter Pilot Alfred F. Jones' life spirals out of control as his plane is shot down in a failed German air raid.

**Warnings:** _Somewhat_ explicit description of burning

**Disclaimer: **Don't own now. Won't own later. Dro owns nothing, peoples!

* * *

The world burned.

* * *

"_Al, promise me you'll be careful." _

"_What're you worrying about, Mattie? I'm like an ace, remember? In a few months, I'll probably officially be one!" He took another gulp of beer. "You worry to much. Calm down and have a drink!"_

_Matthew sighed. "Please don't be too cocky, Alfred. You're a pilot. You could die at any time."_

_Alfred clicked his tongue. "This is me you're talking about. No matter what happens, I'll always come back to you."_

_A soft smile tugged on Matthew's lips. "I hope so, Al. I really hope so."_

_Alfred let his smile drop and gently rubbed his brother's back, ignoring the clamor of their fellow soldiers in the background. "We're going to win this war, you know. We're going to win, we're going to go home, and we're going to spend the rest of our lives as war heroes!"_

"_Tch, foolish notions. You're much more likely to die."_

_

* * *

_

The world burned. And so did he. It had happened in an instant. One moment he'd been trailing a Me 109(1), guns blazing, smoke churning, sparks flying. And the next, he burned. The world had become hell right before his eyes. Flames roared in the cockpit, and he lost control of the plane. Now he spiraled downward, dropping like a tangled bird, crying and screaming and twisting and turning as he dived toward his fate at a breakneck speed.

In the briefest second, he saw the face of Mattie and Arthur flash by him. The photograph they'd taken last week at a soldier's birthday party. It was blackened and charred and burned, and it crumbled away. Just like his body. The air whipped by his face, the flames snaking after it, taking the picture away with them. His burning blue eyes watched it listlessly as it floated away into oblivion.

Then his world went dark. But the flames still burned on, eating away at his skin like acid. He felt the flames lick their way up his arms, his legs, and he heard the steaming sound of a high-pitched of a scream, vaguely acknowledging it as his own. He was trapped in Milton's dream just like Milton himself, dark and bleak and painful and endless(2). Surely, he thought, this earthly hell could not be eternal. He knew the moment he hit the ground, his world would end, and he would descend into the true hell beneath the Earth. Or perhaps he would just float right through the soil and down below. Perhaps there would be no impact at all. Or perhaps he already had, and his punishment was to be stuck in this immortal torment, reliving his terrifying moment of death until his soul disintegrated.

He hoped his soul was fragile.

* * *

_Alfred whipped around to face the familiar British face. "God, what's with you, Kirkland?" His cousin was such a pessimist. "Do you want your soldiers to give up without a fight? If you tell them they're going to die anyway—"_

"_I tell them the truth, Alfred." He adjusted his coat. Alfred realized the man was in full uniform._

"_You're leaving?" Matthew's nervous voice rang out._

"_Yes. Tomorrow morning. I just came from a meeting."_

"_Where are you going?" Alfred asked. As much as his distant relative got on his nerves, Alfred couldn't deny he cared about the man._

_Arthur sighed. "North Africa." _

_

* * *

_

He hit the ground. The impact tore the plane apart, and Alfred found himself flying through the air once again, his body no longer a skillful pilot controlling his motions but a torn and charred ragdoll being flung through the air as if by the hand of a careless child. Or perhaps the hand of a contemptuous God. This too was eternity. There was no sight. The sky was dark to him. The earth was black instead of green. The colors had drained away and were replaced with infinite night.

The grass met him like a million razors, shearing away the inflamed skin of his face and shoulders. He bounced and rolled and tumbled, wishing, praying, begging with every single instance of sensation that God would be merciful and take his life now. Or at least his consciousness. But God had no ear turned toward his plight. His momentum slowed to a crawl and then to a stop, and he body teetered limply on the edge of a hill. Or perhaps it was a cliff. Perhaps his torment was not yet over. Perhaps God truly hated him.

But he did not fall.

* * *

"_Be careful." Matthew whispered._

_Arthur's gaze softened. "You too, boys. I've heard…" He swallowed as he looked at Alfred. "I've heard you're going to be involved in bombings next week."_

"_That's right." Alfred beamed._

"_Alfred, please…"_

"_I know! Be careful! I get it. I'll be as safe as I can. I'll take precautions. Trust me, Arthur." He could always bait the man by using his first name. "I can do this."_

_Arthur sighed. "I know you can. I just wish I knew you could be safe."_

_

* * *

_

He lost his senses one by one. His already forgotten sight was merely the first in a long list. The flames that had tarnished his body slowly fizzled out, and with the dying nerves of his flame-flayed skin and muscles, Alfred realized it was raining. Finally, he thought, finally God has shown mercy. His clothing was burned into his skin, flesh and molten metal and seared fabric molded together like a tormented human mosaic. But then that feeling left him too, and he was left a senseless hull.

His nose continued to smell the sickening scent of his burning flesh until finally, that released its hold on him as well. He was left with only hearing at the end, his eardrums miraculously spared from the onslaught. It was through them he heard the fate of his comrades. They fell one by one, he knew, surprised by a Nazi ambush that appeared in the night. Fires erupted in the sky with grotesquely loud bangs, lighting up the night with the extinguishing lives of his comrades. He wondered if they all experienced this, this pathetically lingering life that he had. He could only hope not.

When his hearing finally faded along with the rest of his consciousness, he was aware of only one other thing, a dull, repetitive beat that paused just as it neared him. A beat that was so familiar to him, from training, from marching, from simple strolls with Mattie in the park. So utterly mundane and simple that it was something he had never before focused on in his entire life. But not the beat rippled through him, the focus of his world. The beat that would change his life forever.

Footsteps.

* * *

**Dro:** Vague, ominous prologue is vague and ominous. Anyway, you all know the drill. **Tell Dro what you think, sweeties, and click that review button!**

**Next Chapter: **Alfred wakes up alone and in pain...and blind...in a seemingly abandoned house. Or is it?**  
**


	2. Of Obstinance & Insistence

**Dro:** Sorry I missed my Friday deadline for this. I had class, then packing, the driving home, the dinner, then a bath...Ah, you get the point. I finally got around to this like an hour and a half ago. So, enjoy! **And don't forget to drop Dro a review, sweethearts!**

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred wakes up, broken and alone...and blind.

**Warnings:** Language, Sensitive Subjects

**Disclaimer:** Yo, of course Dro doesn't own!

* * *

He could hear. And that was it.

When he came to, alone, in silence, in darkness, Alfred had been sure he was dead. He thought himself to be floating in some black purgatory, trapped between heaven and hell until his judgment came to pass. But after hours of this darkness, he began to realize his mistake. He _felt_ then. He dared to move. Immediately he had recoiled from the simple twitch of his fingers, his tensing muscles only making the spike of intense stinging worse. A quiet gasp broke free from between his chapped, aching lips.

Burns.

He was badly, badly burned. How much of one's body could sustain burns before you were destined to die? Alfred found he could not remember though a part of him was sure he had surpassed it. His greatest temptation was to move. He wanted to stand on his own two legs, look up at a bright blue sky, smile triumphantly and yell "I survived!" But the acid-like burns prevented him from doing so, every random twitch of his muscles making the angry scorches hiss at him.

So instead, he simply laid there like a doll. For the first hour, it was maddening. For the second, it was depressing. For the third, he resigned himself to his fate. He would be in this immobile state for quite some time, if he survived his injuries at all. A part of him whispered traitorous words, that perhaps this was his hell, to suffer in darkness from creeping burns forever, unable to move or rightly feel. Alfred swallowed dryly. His parched throat hissed at him too.

But at least they hissed. Every part of him that ached was at least aching to show it was still _alive_. It was the parts that didn't hurt that scared him the most. Every random surge of pain seem to _skip_ places, and Alfred was no fool. Some of his nerves were _dead_. There were places in his arms, his legs, his torso, where he would never regain feeling. The thought made him want to cry, the idea of living a life where his body was so broken. He would no doubt be grotesquely scarred, partially lame, and…who would _want_ him after this? Was his face ruined? Was he forever disfigured and hideous? He had seen men return form war missing limbs, but burned to the point of becoming monstrosities?

Perhaps this really was his hell.

Or perhaps the burns were but a ruse. Perhaps underlying them was something far worse. It was the topic Alfred had dreaded since he had awoken. It was the topic that frightened him more than anything else. It had been his pride when he'd trained as a pilot. It had been the aid that helped him so valiantly fight the enemy. And now…now it was gone.

His eyesight.

He could feel the stiffness of new gauze wrapped gently over his eyes and around his hair. His short hair. Really short hair. Most of it had no doubt burned away in seconds. Just like his vision. Flashes of flames dancing across his eyes shifted into his mind. For the briefest few seconds, he'd truly known the fate of those sentenced to hell. What was more terrifying than the pain of burning than seeing it with stark clarity as it advanced on you and reached out its hand to silence the terror in your eyes in forever, leaving you to dwell in ignorance as it mockingly burned you when you least expected it?

Blindness.

He was blind.

Alfred truly wished for death at this point. Had the burns not screamed at him to be still, had he had the strength to move his ruined his body, he would have killed himself now. But he couldn't. So he was forced to dwell in his misery. He would never see Mattie's face again. His twin's face would gradually fade from his memory, and along it, Alfred's image of himself. He would never get to watch his brother smile that beautiful, happy smile that made Alfred proud to be the brother that had always been there. He would never have dared to leave Matt.

He would never get to see Arthur's pissed off face again as he beat the older man at a game of cards. Arthur was a bit of an ass, but that didn't mean Alfred wanted to forget his face. He was one of the few relatives the parentless brothers were close to, though he would never admit it to Arthur's face.

His thoughts wandered to even simpler things. He would never again see the sun, the sky, the moon. The wondrous vivid colors of nature would be lost to him for the rest of his life. His existence would be one of shadows and blackness and nothingness. Everything he loved about the world had just been taken away from him. He would never be able to walk the down street and enjoy the view of the simple life. He would never be able to play the mundane games he always enjoyed to relax himself. He would never be able to even fucking feed himself! He would never _fly_ again! The exhilaration, the pure joy, the euphoria of flying so far above the earth, as far as the birds, the clouds, farther…he would never experience it again. The thing that made him happiest in life had been taken from him, as had everything else just beneath it.

_God, please tell me…what have I done to make you hate me so? I admit to being a sinner, but what kind of sin have I committed to make this a just punishment? Is it because I killed people in air raids? Because I'm involved in a war? Is that why so many men are maimed and brutally murdered in war? Because you detest them for being part of it? If I have angered you in this way, then why have you chosen this fate for me? _

_What did I do?_

_Please God. Please tell me. What did I do to deserve this?_

There was no answer.

* * *

At some point, exhausted from his wounds and lack of sustenance, Alfred fell asleep. From his tormented thoughts had arisen the question of where he was and why he had been taken here. Again, he wondered why he was not dead. He had been shot down in Germany. He was deep in Axis territory. Anyone that came upon him should have put him out of his misery without sparing him a second glance, so why instead was in this mysterious, quiet, lonely place, slowly starving and dying of thirst? Why was he bandaged and left alone in the middle of nowhere?

Why? Why? Why?

Why was there no one here who would answer his questions?

He'd become too frustrated to continue his tortured thoughts, so he'd let them go. Let his mind go blank. Just like his eyes would be forever. Thankfully, he had one reprieve. He did not dream. He did not yet have to relive the agony of his descent into this hell over and over and over, though he knew one day, the recurring nightmare would descend upon him. So for now, he savored this small shred of peace. He slept in utter dreamless darkness, the only darkness in his new life that he could possibly stand.

When he awoke again, who knew how many hours later—he would never be able to read a watch again anyway—something was different in his feeling. He felt warm. _Fever? Will I die of this pain instead? Is this my fate?_ Already burned to a crisp and still destined to die by more burning?

But no, he did not have a fever.

It was the sun.

Morning had come to his solemn underworld.

He supposed if there was one thing he could count on in this life, it was the sun would rise and fall with the days. So he counted. This was Day One. His first day of consciousness after having his life snatched away from him by a German fighter and his hope crushed by an apathetic God. Personally, he hoped it was the last.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the sun's phantom warmth, basking in it. He supposed he should be grateful for having any sensation whatsoever after being burned like this, but though the feeling was warm and comfortable and nostalgic, he felt a hint of bitterness nesting in his heart. This was to be the extent of happiness in his life? The warmth of the sun? How pathetic a life was that? How sorry—?

Something moved.

His angry tirade fizzled out in an instant, and his heart started to pick up its pace. Perhaps he had imagined it? Certainly…Certainly it wasn't a…ghost, right? Ghosts weren't real, just like Arthur had said. So maybe the wind had moved something? A good theory, except…he was pretty sure none of the windows were open. He hadn't felt any sort of breeze.

So what had moved?

He heard absolutely nothing for the next thirty seconds. Only the intensifying sound of silence around him filled his ears.

Then he heard it again.

A creak.

A creak on a set of stairs.

Someone was coming up a staircase…

Another step. He knew the sound now.

Footsteps.

A faint flickering memory of them whisked by his consciousness. What was it that was so important about footsteps again?

Oh right, it meant_ someone_ potentially dangerous was heading straight for him, and he could not even stand up! He was going to die now. He knew it. Finally, someone would end his life.

Something rustled.

A bag?

The footsteps steps paused for a brief second, and Alfred heard the distinct twisting of a doorknob. He tried to calm his racing heart, but he only succeeding in making himself run out air, and he ended up gasping just as _someone_ walked through the threshold. He could almost _feel_ the other person's presence in the room, eyes honing in on his prone body like a hawk. A deep sigh rang out like a crashing cymbal, and Alfred forced his body to stay completely still.

Whoever it was walked closer to him, stopping just before—what Alfred believed to be—the side of his bed or cot or whatever the hell he was on. For a few brief seconds, nothing happened. Then the person touched him. He couldn't stop himself from tensing. The man recoiled.

"Ah, you thought you could fool me?" A deep German voice filled the room. German. A German man was holding him captive! A German man was going to torture him! _Oh God, please help me! _"That is foolish move for you, boy. If I do not know your condition, I will think wrong things to try and help you."

Help?

The termed sounded so foreign on the man's lips, above and beyond the language difference. "H…h…help?" It took three tries to get the word out from between his parched lips, and his lungs completely emptied of air to voice the one word.

The man sighed. "Unfortunately. My…uh…_conscience_ would not allowed me to leave you on battlefield. So I brought you here. You will recover, I hope, and leave me be. I will have no guilt, and you will have freedom. We will work this out, ja?"

Alfred was thoroughly confused. A German man had decided to help him? Because of his _conscience?_ What kind of fucking lie was that? Did he take Alfred for an idiot? He wasn't stupid. What German would want to help an American fighter pilot? Alfred said nothing, but he silently seethed at the arrogance of this man. _I'm not a fool, and you won't take me by surprise. Throw whatever you have at me, Nazi scum! I swear to God I can take it. I've already survived this!_ His sparked anger gave him a new resolve. He didn't know who this man was, but he wouldn't let himself fall into a shoddy trap like that.

The man seemed to take his silence for an answer. "Good. It is time to eat now. I am assuming you cannot feed yourself."

_You think, bastard? I can't even get up._

"Therefore, I do it for you."

_I'm not eating a single damn thing you get near my face!_

Or so he said to himself.

The man left, bags (of presumably food) leaving with him. When he reemerged from downstairs a half hour later, the smell of something simple and delicious filled Alfred's previously dormant nose. Soup. The man had fixed him soup. He licked his lips, his mouth salivating uncontrollably. Oh _God,_ he was so hungry. So despite his oath to not eat a single bite of what could potentially be a thousand poisons, he devoured every spoonful the man brought to his lips. It was the most humiliating situation that Alfred could ever remember being in.

Here he was, an invalid, after being shot down by a Nazi plane, being _spoon-fed_ by another damned Nazi. _God, _this was fucked up. But of course, God did not hear him. So he ate his fill and greedily gulped down water and turned his head back toward the window. The man did not say anything as he sat the bowl down _somewhere_ with a clink.

"Angry, I see."

"Is…is there a reason…I shouldn't be?" He had to take a deep breath between every few words, but at least his throat and mouth and lips were working now. Somewhat.

"I suppose not. Logically, you would be angry after being hurt as much as this by the enemy. I anger you, do I not? My presence? Because I am German?"

"What kind of…question is that? It was _you_ fuckers…that did this to me."

The man was disturbingly silent. _That's it, bastard. Get angry, and kill me, and get this over with! I don't want any of your false sympathy shit!_

"You are…right."

Huh?

"I have…personally…hurt many. And so have my comrades. But then again…so have you. Outside, there is war. It is nasty. It is brutal. It is cold. It is…heartless." Alfred heard the man rise to his feet, his presence so imposing that the air seem to do its best to _evade_ him. "But I am not. Nor are you. So in this place, we will not be at war. You sit here. Recover. And eventually leave and go home. I help you. I aid you to escape. I go on my way. And that is final."

Alfred couldn't think of a single thing to say that could even begin to fight back against the man's proclamation. So he bit his tongue and kept his mouth shut.

"I will return again this evening for another meal. Until then, rest. You will need much to recover from such extensive wounds."

Who was this man? Why would a Nazi…a soldier, presumably, even dare to defy his allegiance to help a single, normal wounded pilot? Why commit this kind of treason for a man he did not know? Alfred was standing at a crossroads here. On one hand, he wanted to know more than anything the "Why?" of this situation. But behind that path, behind which was a million dark and terrifying possibilities, was the sense that perhaps that "Why?" was better left unanswered. So instead, he asked the first question when the man began to stomp—boots no doubt polished to a tee as he walked with the measured steps of a well trained solider—and head toward the door.

"Who…?"

But as soon as he got his answer, he suddenly realized the true extent of his stupidity. He had just asked the second question too.

"Ludwig."

And its answer had been left wide open.

* * *

**Dro: **And the plot begins!

**Next Chapter:** Matthew, in France, suddenly runs into Arthur, who is supposed to be in North Africa. And after he gets the answer as the why the man left, he wishes more than anything that he was still there.


	3. Of Revelation & Disbelief

**Dro: **A shorter chapter today. It focuses on one thing and one thing only. Don't forget to **drop me a review** though! A short chapter is still a whole chapter. -teases-

**Chapter Summary:** Matthew finds out the horrible "truth" of his brother's fate.

**Warnings:** None

**Disclaimer:** Dro owns only the angst, peoples. Always the angst.

* * *

"Williams!"

Matthew whipped around to face the tent opening, spotting the Colonel standing beneath an umbrella. The soldier he was treating groaned, and he turned around briefly, whispering to his long time friend Charles to take over and staunch the bleeding until the surgeon was available again. He rose and headed for the flap, diving out from the safety of the tent into the torrential downpour that had engulfed the field for the last three days. It showed no signs of letting up.

As he reached his superior officer, another soldier raised an umbrella for him too. Matthew whispered a thank you as he saluted his Colonel. "Sir?" He'd known the Colonel for a long time, and there was something in the man's face that sent a warning humming through his bones. Had he done something wrong? Maybe they were sending him back to the front lines today. He'd been injured dragging a soldier from the field a few days ago. He subconsciously tested his wrist. It was still in a brace, but it had started functioning normally again. Yes, that had to be it.

The Colonel nodded in the direction of his tent, and the four of them started walking. The soldiers holding the umbrellas were silent, and Matthew wondered as he watched them get drenched why he was getting special treatment. Something wasn't right here. He glanced at the Colonel, who had a far off solemn look on his face. Matthew clenched his fists and inhaled.

"Corporal." The Colonel murmured.

"Yes, sir?" He was really starting to get on edge now.

"There's a Lieutenant Colonel Kirkland of the British Army here to see you."

He almost stopped dead in his tracks. Arthur was here? What the hell was Arthur doing here? Arthur had said his goodbyes over a week ago and headed off to North Africa to relieve another officer. He was supposed to be stationed there for a _long_ time, so how had he ended up in France? There was no _way_ Arthur could really be here. But the Colonel seemed sure of it. What was going on?

"Sir…"

"His business is not for me to speak of, Corporal."

Matthew bit his lip. "Sorry, sir." Matthew looked down at his feet, watching his boots squelch in the mud. It caked his boots and pants, dry spatters and new muck obscuring his once shining new army gear. He remembered the day he signed up for the army. It was the same day Al enlisted to be a pilot. A chill shot through his spine, and he shivered. He probably wouldn't hear from Al for a while. He was scheduled to go on several air raids and then join up with a larger group at a temporary airfield somewhere in southern France for more orders. Several months would have passed before the brothers would be able to speak again.

Matthew looked up and stopped, the rain rushing into the muddy indentations his boots pressed into the soft ground. They stood in front of the Colonel's tent. He glanced up at the Colonel again, and the man nodded. "Come see me when you're done, Corporal."

"Yes, sir."

The second soldier removed the umbrella, and Matthew got one taste of rain before he slipped into the tent. He shook his dripping hair off and turned around. Sure enough, there was Arthur. He was dressed in full uniform, his hat sitting on the Colonel's makeshift table. His head was upturned, as if was staring at something on the bland tent ceiling. Matthew suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Arthur faced away from him, and even though Matthew knew his entrance should've been more than audible, Arthur made no acknowledgment of his presence.

For nearly an entire minute, he stood there in silence, his heartbeat growing faster and harder by the second. He wet his lips. "A—Arthur…?"

The man stiffened. "Matthew…" He mumbled.

"Is…Is everything okay?" His brain was still at a loss for how Arthur could've managed to get out of his post in North Africa. Every second that went by gave him a thousand more possibilities, but all of them seemed so unlikely.

"So you haven't heard then?" Arthur said, his voice carrying a chilling dead tone. Matthew shivered again, trying to think of a coherent response. Heard what? What was he supposed to have heard?

"I…I don't know what you're talking about, Arthur."

Arthur suddenly inhaled sharply, his breath shaky. He coughed. "Matthew…"

"What…what is it?" Matthew took a step forward. "Can you at least turn and face me? You're…you're starting to scare me, Arthur."

"I can't face you…I can't." He buried his face in his hands.

Matthew's heart raced. What was Arthur so upset about? Was he _crying?_ Low, choked sobs emerged from Arthur's hunched form, and Matthew went rigid. Arthur and crying did not mix. Arthur did not cry. He yelled. He swore. He chuckled. He did _not_ cry. Not unless…the idea smacked Matthew in the face at the same time it stabbed him in the heart. "Ah…" He gasped. "A…Arthur…you're not here…you're not here because something has…happened to…to Al, are you?"

Arthur said nothing.

Matthew's blood ran cold. "It's not that bad, right? He's in a hospital somewhere?" He voice began to rise in pitch. "Right?"

Arthur said nothing.

"Arthur, please say something…" He was shaking now, his fingers twitching uncontrollably, his lip quivering, his eyelids barely containing tears. "Please…is it paralysis? Did he lose a limb? Tell me something!"

Arthur said nothing.

"God, Arthur! Is he dead?" He screamed, his tears finally breaking through their dams.

And still, Arthur said nothing.

Matthew sank to his knees. "No…please tell me I'm wrong." Al couldn't be dead. "No…" His brother. His annoying, stupid brother that he loved more than anything. His brother who dreamed of a life in the sky, high above the clouds. His brother who wanted nothing more than to help people. His brother who'd he met at age four, when his mother had died and his father had had no money. He'd sent him from Quebec to live with his ex wife, who had a son just over a year older. Matthew's half-brother, Alfred. Alfred, whose smile was like the shining sun. Alfred, who could singlehandedly light up the dreariest night by himself. Alfred, who everyone teased but loved more than the world.

Alfred could _not_ be dead.

The tears flowed freely now. If Matthew had had more, he imagined, his tears would have mimicked the downpour outside. His tears would have flooded the world and drained away any sense of happiness or hope. "No…" Because how could the world be happy without Alfred? How could the world move on without something so crucial to its axis? He hung his head. "No…" He grabbed his hair. "No!"

Arthur said absolutely nothing.

And Matthew cried.

When Matthew finally ran out of tears, he sobbed dryly. He'd lost track of any sense of time, and honestly, he couldn't bother to care. His shoulders drooped, his eyes stared blankly at the floor. Alfred was the closest person he had left. Their parents were dead. Their father had died of a sudden illness a few years ago. Alfred's mother had been killed in an accident. Alfred's step-father had been killed a year later in a bar fight. So for most of their teenage years, it had just been the two of them. They'd grown up together, alone in a house, both of them having some sort of inheritance to live off of. At sixteen, by a random chance of fate, they'd met Arthur. The army man had strode right up to their door and knocked, looking for Alfred's dead mother. Instead, he'd found two teenage boys, who found out for the first time that they had a British cousin. With all three of them lacking in the parent department, they'd become close companions. They visited Arthur a few times a year. He came to visit them.

And then there was war.

War that had torn apart their little mock family and left a gaping hole in two different chests. Matthew stared down at the dirt floor of the tent like he was staring right through to his torn soul. Where a bright, joyous light should've been was a void of nothingness. The light had been extinguished. His brother was gone. Gone. He couldn't imagine life without Alfred. When had he ever lived without Alfred? He had no memories of before that time. Alfred was his other half. Alfred considered them _twins_. It didn't matter that they had a different mother. They were two halves of one whole. They had been their whole lives.

How did one continue to live after being ripped in half?

His lips moved without him.

"How…?"

He was half-sure Arthur would not answer him. He was half-sure he did not care for an answer. How would knowing make it any better? Alfred dying in peace or pain made no difference. Peace would bring only a touch of relief that would sooth an inch of a wound a mile long. But he'd asked regardless, so he would await an answer.

"Shot down." Arthur said, his voice haunted. He still hadn't turned around. Matthew saw nothing but his uniform-clad back.

"In a raid?" Matthew asked listlessly.

"Yes."

"Are…are they sending his body back home?"

Arthur sighed. "Matthew, there is no body."

"What?" He snapped his head up. "What do you mean there's no body?" How could there be _nothing_ left of his brother? Nothing at all? Would he be burying an empty casket? Would he be wishing _nothing_ peace on the other side? There had to be _something_ left. Anything!

"Matthew, you don't…you don't understand…they couldn't retrieve it."

"What?" Couldn't retrieve…?

"He was shot down in Germany, Matthew. His team was ambushed by German fighters. He went down behind enemy lines. They couldn't…"

Matthew felt a sense of numbness so complete that he felt he'd left his body behind. "Al is…"

"I'm sorry…there's nothing they can do." Arthur choked down another sob.

"So, we'll never…?"

"I'm so sorry." Arthur choked. "I'm so sorry." He rocked back and forth in his seat. "He shouldn't have had to die like that! He shouldn't have had to die at all! Damn it!" Arthur screamed, sending his chair toppling over as he jumped up. He finally turned to face Matthew, his tear-stained face marring the eloquence of his uniformed body. He sank down in front of Matthew, shaking hands landing on the boy's shoulders. "God…it shouldn't be like this. You two are supposed to outlive me. You're supposed to be happy. You're supposed to—"

He hugged Arthur.

The man broke down all over again.

Matthew let the man sob into his shoulder as he gently rubbed Arthur's back. A calm sense of complete emptiness had settled in Matthew's chest. What had been a vibrant desire for life was now a cooling wick of indifference. His brother was dead. Dead. They'd walked through life this far with their hands intertwined, feet in step with the other's, taking the same path toward the end. And now Matthew stood on that wide path all alone. No matter where he looked, that hand that had held his own was nowhere to be seen, and his fingers were quickly cooling. How long would it be before he forgot those fingers altogether? How long would it be before he found himself completely lost?

If he wasn't already.

* * *

**Dro:** Wow, that was just a jolly chapter, eh?

**Next Chapter:** Alfred begrudgingly settles into a routine with the mysterious Ludwig, if only to somehow quench his undying curiosity about the man's true identity. Unfortunately, he gets more than he bargained for.


	4. Of Knowledge & Deception

**Dro: **Hey, a chapter that's not completely emo! Unless you think so...**review** and let me know!

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred begrudgingly falls into a pattern with Ludwig, who he becomes more and more desperate to learn about.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Right, I totally own APH. That's why I'm writing _fan_fiction.

* * *

Alfred felt himself drift into consciousness again. It wasn't like waking up with sight. Waking up used to be about opening his eyes and taking in the sights of a new day. Waking up blind was something different. Instead of watching a new day descend on the world, he listened for it. Birds chirped as they rose for the morning, preparing to go in search for food for their young or just frolic in the sky. He heard the distance thrum of a truck engine chugging along somewhere on a far off road. And at some point, he knew, when the sun would begin to feel hot on his skin, he would hear Ludwig open the front door, stomp up the stairs, say hello, and stomp back down to the kitchen to make him something to eat.

The man wouldn't talk much, and it was really grating on Alfred's nerves. He'd begrudgingly allowed the man to fall into this cycle with him. Ludwig would come twice a day to feed him (and…help him to the bathroom). Alfred would let the man spoon feed him soup and whatnot, but he'd refused to be babied when it came to simple stuff like sandwiches. He'd switched back to solid food a few days ago, and he wasn't planning on letting this nearly infantile state of helplessness continue on for too long. He may have been blind, but he wasn't going to let himself be an invalid forever. Blind people had always been around, and most of them got around just fine. In fact, he knew two blind men from his home town. He met the pair on daily _walks_ down the road in the evening. They got along in life just fine without their eyesight. And he would too, damn it!

The burns were another thing. It still hurt to move his arms and legs any significant distance. And it would for a while according to Ludwig. The man had _checked_ his burns the other day. He'd insisted on cleaning Alfred off to stave off infections, and unfortunately, Alfred was still in no condition to refuse. So he'd had to sit in his darkness while this man _touched_ him in some very sensitive places with a wet cloth, occasionally grazing over really painful burns. After he was satisfied, Alfred was bandaged up again. Ludwig had told him he was looking better than the German had originally thought. Many of Alfred's burns were only superficial. There were only a few spots where the burns were severe. He was confident Alfred would be able to recover well enough. "Well enough" for what, Alfred was not sure.

Obviously, he wasn't going back to the front. Wounds like this would have given him a ticket straight back to the States. So maybe Ludwig meant "well enough" to smuggle out of Germany and back to the Allied side so he could leave? He wasn't sure how the man planned to pull that off. Then again, Alfred still didn't know who Ludwig was. Maybe he was someone high up in the chain of command? Maybe he had some strings to pull? Who knew? Not Alfred. Then again, Ludwig could always mean "well enough" to be interrogated. Maybe he was just nursing Alfred back to health so they could torture him all over again in order to get information. He wouldn't put it past the damned Nazi.

The door creaked open. Speaking of the damned Nazi, Ludwig was here. He listened as the man took his familiar path through the house. Where was this house anyway? Alfred had assumed that it was some sort of old farmhouse off the beaten track where no one lived any longer. God only knew how Ludwig found such a convenient spot to hide him. The door to the room opened noisily on obviously rusty hinges. Ludwig had more bags with him.

"How are you feeling today, Alfred?" That deep Germany voice asked.

"Same as usual. Not too bad but not too good." The truth in all its glory. He didn't feel like he was actively dying anymore, but he certainly wasn't well enough to get up and run a marathon. To begin with, the first thing he'd do would be to run into the wall. If his burnt up legs didn't make fall flat on his face first.

"I see. I will make you lunch, then." He turned and left. Or at least, that's what Alfred pictured. Well, he actually pictured some huge, burly scary guy that was like, seven feet tall and had red, piercing eyes with swastikas in them and a mustache like Hitler. Seemed about right for a typical Nazi. He'd wondered more than once what Ludwig actually looked like. Maybe today he'd ask instead of spitting insults?

…Nah.

Ludwig returned about half an hour later with something that smelled suspiciously like chicken. _Mmm, chicken_…Alfred's mouth watered. The man sat down in what Alfred assumed was a chair next to his bed. He sat a glass down on the small table that Alfred _knew_ was next to bed along with a plate.

"I have brought you something you can eat by yourself, I think." He carefully picked up Alfred's bandaged hand and led it to one of the pieces of chicken. Alfred grabbed it by the end and brought it back to his mouth, part of him hoping it was nasty so he could spit it back in Ludwig's face. He bit into it.

It was delicious.

Damn it.

"I will set the plate in you lap unless it will hurt you."

"No. Go ahead." He mumbled.

Alfred ate the rest of his chicken in silence. He was almost thankful that Ludwig had fixed him something that required very little contact. It was an alien feeling having someone else—someone he didn't know and couldn't see—helping him do basic things like eating.

"Tell me if you need anything. I have some work I must attend to." His German accent rumbled out. Alfred heard the rustling of some papers, and he was instantly suspicious. What was Ludwig doing now? Ordering the execution of POWs? Okaying the torture of captured spies? He could think of a thousand dastardly things that Nazi bastard might have been doing. And he would have liked it if any of them were right.

"What're you doing?" He suddenly blurted out. The papers went silent, and Alfred was sure he would feel a gun pressed to his temple any second. But he didn't. Instead, Ludwig actually answered him.

"Supply request. More soldiers arrived from recent battles in the town today. We do not have enough supplies to restock them. Going through my team can…expedite?...shipment of supplies." He seemed unsure of his wording, but Alfred understood him. Perhaps a little too well.

What team? What kind of team did Ludwig have? Some sort of specially trained soldier group or something? Now he was really suspicious. "Ah. Got it."

Alfred finished his meal and went to wipe his mouth off when a hand shot out and grabbed his arm. He screamed in terror. Ludwig sighed. "Do not wipe your mouth with your bandages. I have no infinite supply. Here." He pressed a napkin into Alfred's hand. _Oh…ha ha…I seriously thought he was going to kill me for a second there_. Alfred carefully wiped his mouth off and coughed.

"Can I have some water?" He murmured.

Ludwig grunted in response, and a few moments later, Alfred felt the glass pressed against his hand. He drained it in seconds, the cool water quenching his thirst. Contemplating his skills, he tried to find the nightstand on his own. The back of his hand slammed into the corner of the wood, and he yelped as it hit a burn, dropping the glass. He cringed, expecting the crash of glass on the floor. But it never came. A brief second later, he heard the glass being sat safely on the nightstand. He was floored. Had Ludwig just _caught_ the glass in midair? What, did the man have, like, science fiction super powers or something? Or was he some highly trained agent of evil? Alfred thought the latter was more likely.

His mouth started moving again before he could stop himself. "Who _are_ you?"

Ludwig didn't say anything. Instead, the papers started moving again, and the sound of a pen hitting its mark filled Alfred's ears. Alfred swallowed nervously. Okay, so maybe that had been the wrong question. Alfred had an idea.

"Hey, look, I know you probably want to be secretive and all, but I'd really feel more comfortable if I knew a _little_ about who was sitting next to me. So…how about we trade information?"

"Hmm?"

Well, at least that was a response.

"I mean, how about I tell you about myself, and then you tell me about yourself. Not a lot. Just a little bit. Okay?"

"Hmm…so be it."

"Alright!" He felt slightly relieved. "Well, uh…I'm Alfred F. Jones. I'm a…" He paused. "I…_was_…a fighter pilot for the Americans." He bit his lip. _And I never will be again._ "I have a twin. Well, he's actually my half-brother, but we look so much alike that everyone thinks we're twins, so I just consider us twins, usually. His name is Mattie…well, Matthew. He's in the army. He does a lot of medical stuff in addition to fighting on the front lines. He wants to go to college to become a doctor one day, see…Uh…His guys tend to get moved around a lot to back up other units. He's in France now, I think. Um…my only other relative is a like…I think he's a second cousin…anyway…his name is Arthur. He's in the British army." Alfred stopped, realizing he was just pointlessly ranting.

Ludwig was silent for several moments. "No parents?" He finally said.

"Ah…no. Not for a while now."

"I am…sorry."

"Don't be. Me and Mattie get along just fine by ourselves."

Ludwig's only response was, "Hmm."

"So, what about you, Ludwig?"

Ludwig sucked in a deep breath, obviously contemplating what he should and shouldn't tell Alfred. Finally, he starting speaking in that low, deep German accent. "I was born in small, northern German town. I have one older brother. Our parents are no longer together. We see our mother a few times a year. Our father does not keep in contact with us. I worked at small…grocery store…for a few years after I graduated from school. My brother ran off with some woman to France until the war started. Then he came back….Um, I visited Italy once and made a close friend there. We still exchange letters. Um…My life is…not so interesting."

Alfred tried grasping for anything to talk about. "So…your brother…is he a nice guy? I mean, he sounds a little flaky, but…"

"My brother is an ass."

"Oh…" Alfred chuckled nervously. "Well, that's one way to put it."

"There is no other way to put it."

"Ah. I see."

Ludwig suddenly grunted loudly. "I lost track of the time. I must be going now." He rose, the floorboards creaking beneath him. "I will return for dinner at the usual time…uh, well…I suppose you can't tell the time."

"No, I can usually tell. You start getting different signs of time when you're blind."

"Ah, that is…interesting. We should talk more of that at dinner, ja?"

Had Alfred not had a bandage over his eyes, they would've looked sincerely shocked. Ludwig wanted to talk with him? Where had this suddenly come from? It was like he'd somehow broken a magical barrier between him and the man. Then again, perhaps the more important question was: Did he want to talk later with Ludwig? Alfred considered his options quickly. He could spend the rest of time (potentially the rest of his life) in uncomfortable silence with the German man. Or, they could have civil times from time to time that could ease Alfred's intense feeling of utter loneliness in his now blind world. Well, gee, that was a _hard_ decision.

"Uh, sure. See you…I mean…hear you again later?" He cracked a smirk for the first time since he'd woken up.

Ludwig snorted. "And I will…_see_ you at dinnertime."

Just as Ludwig opened the door, a sudden thought struck Alfred. "Oh, wait! You never did tell me what you do now. Your job." He clarified. "Are you just a soldier stationed here?"

The deathly silence in the room almost made Alfred recant his question. But just as he opened mouth, Ludwig finally answered in a brief moment before heading out the door, and closing it behind him loudly.

"I am _Schutzstaffel_." Is what he said.

Alfred was left on his bed next to the window with a question mark hanging above his head. _Schutzstaffel? _What the hell was _Schutzstaffel?_ Alfred spent the next five minutes thinking about it. He could've sworn he'd heard that word somewhere before. What was it? Obviously, it was some Germany military-related thing, right? What was it? What was it? Man, he really should've paid attention during training. He knew they'd told him all sorts of stuff about the Nazis. God damn it! What did that damn word mean? He thought about it as hard as he could, digging into the untapped recesses of his brain. _Come one, I know it's somewhere in here. I know I've heard it before._

_Schutzstaffel._

_Schutzstaffel._

_Schutzstaffel._

_Aha! _

His blood ran cold. _Schutzstaffel_ wasn't just an offshoot of the German military. Alfred found himself shaking despite the pain that surged through his burned skin. _No, this can't be happening to me. Schutzstaffel_ was something he'd heard nightmarish stories about. How had it taken him so long to recognize the name?

Then again, they called it something else in English.

_God, please…God…what did I do to deserve this?_

Once again, he felt the wrath of his absent God descending upon him, forcing him closer and closer to the fiery pit. Had his eyes been functioning properly, he would've cried. But he couldn't even do that anymore. So instead, he just screamed angrily at the empty room.

In English, they called it the SS.

* * *

**Dro:** Did you guys know that German words are kind of hard to spell?

**Next Chapter:** Two weeks after hearing of his brother's death, Matthew gets trapped behind enemy lines in combat zone. Desperate to escape, he attempts to flee back to safety but ends up running into a mysterious German instead.


	5. Of Resistance & Realization

**Dro:** Ah...went to sleep with news that Japan had suffered an earthquake and had a 13 foot tsunami. Woke up with news it was an 8.9 with a 23 foot tsunami. There really are no words for devastation like this. I hope you guys can still enjoy the chapter. Keep Japan in mind today!

**Chapter Summary:** Separated from his allies, Matthew struggles to return to his side of the front but instead runs into a mysterious German who gives him an even more mysterious something.

**Warnings:** Mildly disturbing description of a battlefield.

**Disclaimer:** No. Just no. And no again. And again. And again...

* * *

Routine. That's what it was supposed to be. The front hadn't seemed any different than it had in the last two weeks. The same constant beat of mortar fire in the background. The same thudding of grenades as they soared over the Allied line. Matthew had long become immune to the explosions themselves. He ignored the jolt in his chest whenever a grenade blew up one foot too close for comfort. He had learned to avoid eye contact with the bright flames that burst in the dimness of a battle heading into night. Ducking beneath machinegun rounds and crouching behind any available protection had become second nature to him.

And so, war had become routine.

Or so he thought.

He and his long time comrades were positioned near the front lines, on standby and waiting for orders at the first sign of some bad omen for their fellow soldiers. They helped fallen but still living soldiers away from the battlefield. They watched the rapidly darkening sky light up with the fires of pain and death and murder. And it was routine. They whispered amongst themselves, one or two of them watching for any sign of a breach in the line, watching for the stray German fire team that occasionally broke through but was quickly gunned down.

At one point, Matthew managed to tune out the world around, and he heard nothing but his own breathing and his own thoughts. But when Alfred's face consumed his mind, he quickly let that state of peaceful solitude go. He would rather have had the terrors of war flooding his senses than the pain from the loss of his brother. Some days he considered just letting himself fall into the line of German fire, letting himself be gunned down and swept away from life in an instant, letting himself join Alfred on the other side. But then he remembered Arthur, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. Arthur, who was now back in North Africa, but who was obviously struggling to return to his normal self. He'd been closer to the boys than he was willing to admit, and now it was taking its toll on him.

And so Matthew had let himself live. For Arthur's sake. Because he refused to shatter his only remaining relative.

And so he'd settled back into this routine.

Except, it wasn't anymore.

His own breathing was the loudest thing in his ears, succeeded only by his footsteps. He leapt over fallen trees, some still smoldering. He ducked behind stray barbed wire for the briefest seconds, scouting the area before restarting his desperate dash. The night seemed blacker than it ever had before. He stumbled over and over, but he kept going. He couldn't stop. Not now. Chills shot down his spine every few seconds, and he was unable to shirk off the distinct feeling of someone following him.

How had this gone so wrong so fast?

One moment, his friends and comrades had been waiting for orders. The next, all hell broke loose. The Germans, in one mad rush, had broken the line and were flooding past the trenches, sending terrified soldiers retreating backward in a rain of gunfire. Matthew and his team had barely had time to react before they were caught up in the rushing mob. He'd quickly lost sight of his team, and he was lost in the confusion. The next flash of memory he had was of a mortar shell exploding in front of him. He'd stumbled and fallen at the impact, people rushing by him and over him. The force of footsteps pounded his back as he was trampled.

Somehow, he'd managed to crawl into the woods and hide in the brush just before the Germans swept past the area, chasing down and brutally massacring his fellow soldiers. His ribs on fire, he'd been forced to stay in one place for several minutes. Every second had felt like an hour. He'd grown sicker and sicker with each glimpse of a fallen comrade. Bodies speckled the field, most half buried in mud after being trampled. Some faces showed no emotion. Some showed petrified anguish. Some had no faces at all.

Finally, the sounds of the massacre faded into the night, and Matthew heard the far off sounds of a new stalemate begin. He forced himself up, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and turned around, wondering how he was going to get back to the Allied side without getting gunned down. He'd shaken off the apprehension and had started to rush toward the action again, knowing he couldn't leave his comrades in the midst of battle. As the sounds of the battle drew nearer, Matthew had started to get that terrifying feeling of being followed.

And it just wouldn't go away.

Even as the sounds of battle began to intensify again, pounding against his eardrums, he couldn't shake the feeling. Was there a sniper on him? Was he being pursued by German troops? He didn't know, and at this point, he didn't care. He would've much rather been on the front lines with his allies right now, struggling valiantly to regain control of the trenches and beat back the Germans. He didn't care how dangerous it was. Nothing was as terrifying as this.

A stray bullet hit the tree next to his head, and he gasped, speeding up his pace. Someone _was_ following him. Another bullet hit another tree. But it wasn't a sniper. A sniper would've hit him by now. And as another stray bullet landed next to his head, he realized the person wasn't _trying_ to hit him. Not a sniper. Definitely not. So who was it? He readied his rifle. Leaping over a fallen tree, he ducked behind it and whipped around, aiming blindly into the night, his eyes searching for any signs of his pursuers. The forest was deathly silent.

There _had_ to be someone out there. Someone _had_ shot at him. But he heard nothing but his own heart pounding in his chest. He tried to steady his breaths, blinking several times. But all he saw was darkness and shadows. He knew he needed to calm down before his mind started playing tricks on him. Then he really _would_ be in danger. He steadied his rifle and scoured the area again. Was his pursuer hiding? Laying in wait for Matthew to stand up or make a mistake?

Matthew crouched, perfectly still, for several minutes. Nothing moved, he swore. Nothing. Leaves didn't sway. Branches didn't groan. Twigs didn't snap. No breathing but his own. No rustle of fabric but his own. Nothing. No one was there. Whoever had been there before couldn't possibly be there now. There was no way someone could be that silent. He relaxed his grip on his rifle, lowering it.

The cold barrel of a handgun pressed against the back of his head.

Matthew froze. His breathing hitched, and he began to tremble. _I lost. I failed. That's it. I'm dead._ He clenched his eyes shut, waiting for the shot that would end it his life. But it never came.

"Turn around." A gruff Germany voice ordered him. "Put down the gun."

Confused but frightened beyond his senses, Matthew complied, slowly lowering his rifle to the ground and letting it rest on the damp soil. He slowly stood back up, hands raised in defeat, and turned around, his entire body quivering in fear. He came face to face with the barrel of the gun, and for a few seconds, that was all he could focus on. Death stared him in the face. But it did not take him.

Finally, he focused on the man behind it. In the darkness of the night, the man's hair looked stark white. It seemed to almost absorb the darkness around it and morph it into an eerie luminance that cast a dull glow on his entire figure. Framed by these odd white locks were two blood red eyes. At least, they appeared to be. Matthew was sure he was hallucinating by this point. He was almost entirely convinced he'd already been shot and this was the messenger of death sent to drag him off to his own personal hell.

Then the man spoke. The gruff voice sent violent chills down Matthew spine, and he almost lost his balance. "You." The man barked. "Are you Matthew Williams?"

Matthew blanked. How did this German soldier…no, he _wasn't_ a soldier, Matthew realized now. He dared to glance at the rest of the man's body. The uniform was not wholly familiar, but he knew enough to recognize the man's allegiance. SS. The man pointing a gun at him was an SS officer. The fear rose to a whole new level, and Matthew's stomach churned. His legs almost fell out from under him. His stomach almost emptied its contents. But somehow, he managed to keep a grasp on his body for a few more seconds.

"I asked you a question. Are you Matthew Williams?"

Matthew nodded dumbly at the man's harsh voice.

The man snorted. "Finally. Well, that took long enough." He muttered, eeriness suddenly offset by the annoyance of his demeanor.

Matthew felt like he'd entered some sort of half-awake dream state. There was no way an SS officer was being so nonchalant. And yet, he was. Matthew watched the man dig around in his coat pocket before producing a white rectangle. At the same time the man retracted the gun, he held out of the white thing to Matthew, who stared at it, uncomprehending.

The strange SS officer raised an eyebrow. "It's for you." He waved it in Matthew's face. "No questions. Take it and go." He killed Matthew's words before they left his lips. Tentatively, Matthew reached up and took the offending paper, barely able to hold it in his violently shaking fingers. His eyes were locked on the bright red irises of the odd SS officer, whose lips were pulled into a irritated frown.

Matthew stood there stunned as the man holstered his gun. He mumbled something in what sounded like very exasperated German, and he suddenly brushed past Matthew quickly, hopping over the downed tree Matthew had been using as cover. Matthew dared to turn around a few moments later, but the man was already gone, one last flash of white in the distance the only sign that he'd every been there at all.

Matthew fell to his knees. He numbly eyed the paper…no, the _envelope_ in his hand. What in God's good name had just happened?

Thirty minutes later, he was finally back on his feet making a mad dash for his new front line. Branches stung his face and brambles grabbed at his pants, but he didn't care. He kept running. The unopened envelope burned in his pocket, but he wouldn't be able to read it now. Not in this condition. Not even with enough light. He needed to get out of this mess first.

He dived behind a tree as a number of German troops suddenly entered his field of vision. Taking a deep breath, he peaked around the tree, spotting the enemy soldiers. They were all taking cover and firing at a number of Allied soldiers about twenty feet away. What had been a trench battle seemed to have devolved into guerilla warfare. Matthew eyed all the soldiers. Seven Germans. He pressed his rifle against his head briefly, muttering a prayer. Then he turned to aim. All their backs were turned on him. He could do this.

He fired. One went down. He fired again. Another went down. They realized he was there. He fired again. A third. His comrades realized an ally had snuck up behind their enemy. And again. A fourth. The other three tried to scattered, but the Allied soldiers gunned them down before they got very far. Matthew whipped back around the tree as bullets blew past him. When he dared to look a few moments later, seven German bodies littered the ground.

"Who's there?" Someone called from the Allied side.

"Corporal Williams." He answered.

There was a pause. "Matt?"

He suddenly picked himself up and pushed away from the tree. In front of him was Charles, his close friend Walker, and a few others he recognized from the camp. He couldn't help but smile in relief. Neither could they.

"Holy shit, Matt!" Charles gave him a sort of half embrace, patting his patting. "Thought we lost you!"

"Me too for a while there."

Reunited with his comrades, they headed back to the main line, where their own men had somehow managed to regain a foothold in the battle. They'd lost some ground, but they'd gained some back, and the Germans had been pushed back to trenches further away. A fresh battalion of soldiers arrived on their end; the ones who'd been fighting the entire night were recalled to the camp. They all regrouped, some soldiers getting immediate medical attention. Others searched for lost friends. Matthew just sat down as the new troops pulled in and took deep breaths.

The envelope felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He wanted desperately to read whatever was inside it now, but he was abnormally paranoid about someone seeing it. He glanced over the crowd, making sure no one was looking at him. Then he quickly pulled the pristine envelope from its place. He held it in front of him, gazing down at it in disbelief. On the front of the envelope was written his own name in a careful hand. There was nothing else. Just his name. No address. No hint at what was inside.

Hesitantly, he turned the letter over and stuck a dirtied nail under the sealed flap. He carefully pulled the flap away, unwilling to rip it, as if he felt some otherworldly presence existed within the envelope. Inside it was a single piece of folded paper. Matthew eyed it for several seconds, unsure if he was really willing to read it or not. Biting his lip, he went for it. He slipped the paper out of the envelope. On the front of the folded paper was the name of a German town or city. Matthew didn't know which, just that it was somewhere in Germany. He'd never heard the name before, and he didn't dare try to pronounce it. There was no specific address. Just a town, a comma, and Germany.

Matthew unfolded the paper like he was opening the Ark of the Covenant. Still shaking fingers carefully pulled back each fold until the paper was splayed out before him in all its glory. On the paper was a single line written in the same neat hand. There was no signature. There was no greeting. There was just a single line. There was just four words, positioned dead center on the first line of the page.

A few moments later, the pristine envelope landed with a flutter in the mud. A few moments after that, the entire bottom of the letter was a crumpled mess. A few moments after that, tears were running freely down Matthew's cheeks, and he didn't even bother to hold back his choking sobs.

Because on that single piece of paper was written four words that had just renewed his hope in life.

'_Your brother is alive.'_

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** The chapter that sets up the entire rest of the story. Here it is.

**Next Chapter:** Alfred struggles to come to terms with Ludwig being an SS officer. Ludwig struggles to come to terms with his conscience.


	6. Of Overreaction & Explanation

**Dro: **Sorry about the length, guys. I had to move all my crap back into my dorm room today. I didn't get there until 7:00 (after last minute shopping for necessary stuff), and I didn't have time to write until an hour or two ago. I was going to add another scene here, but I'll make it next chapter instead.

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred tries to cope with Ludwig with being an SS officer. He doesn't do so well.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** The usual.

* * *

Alfred gripped the hammer with all his might. He imaged his knuckles had turned white from the pressure, indentations forming on his fingers in the shapes of the rough-grained wood. He wasn't going to let it go though. It was a viable weapon. He actually preferred it to a gun, and when he'd found it after shuffling around in the drawer of the nightstand—the skin of his burnt arms stretching painfully—he'd nearly wept for joy. A hammer was something he could blindly swing all he wanted until he came in contact with his target. No aim required. Which was a plus for him considering he was completely and utterly blind to the world around him. All he would need to was use some hearing cues and heave the hammer around until the head met _his_ head.

He would kill that God-damned son of a bitch SS Nazi if it was the last thing he did. Who did that fucker think he was fooling? Alfred had almost—_almost, _though he would never admit it—been fooled by Ludwig's sympathy act. Now he was completely convinced it was all a lie. He was SS. Alfred had heard enough rumors to know these bastards were bad news. They carried out secret missions. They protected Hitler personally. Who knew what kind of shit they usually did? Torture, he imagined. Assassinations. Spying. Massacres. All of the above and more were on Alfred's list. Ludwig _had_ to have some sort of plan for him. He wanted information. Or something else. Alfred wasn't sure _what_ else, but there were probably ten reasons Ludwig was leading him on like this, and he'd be damned if he let the Nazi continue to trick him.

Of course, he had doubts about killing the man. Ludwig was, after all, the man who was feeding and taking care of him. Even with a sinister purpose for doing so, he was keeping Alfred alive. If he managed to kill Ludwig, where would he get food from? He couldn't even take himself to the bathroom, much less find his way to a market to buy food. If he went through with this, he would probably starve to death, if he didn't die of a rampant infection from the burns that Ludwig was keeping clean. He gripped the hammer harder. He _hated_ this. He hated being dependent on others for such simple tasks. He wanted to be up and about and God damn it, he wanted to _see!_ Why was God being so cruel to him?

He whipped the hammer from underneath his sheets and pounded it into the wall, ignoring the flaring pains in his arm. He screamed at the empty room for the seventh time that day, cursing his weaknesses, cursing life, cursing God. Why couldn't this all just be a nightmare? Why couldn't he just wake up tomorrow morning and be back in his little home town in his little old house and with just him and Matt? Why had life morphed into this monstrosity?

"What are you doing?"

He gasped, whirling the hammer around to point in the direction of the voice.

"Where did you get that?"

"None of your fucking business!" He spat back.

Ludwig said nothing for several moments, then, "This is because I am _Schutzstaffel, _isn't it? You are paranoid. You think I come here to fool you."

"Because you do, you bastard!"

Ludwig sighed deeply. "I knew I should not have told you. Things are now too complicated. I should have just left you ignorant." He sounded frustrated, and at the sound of approaching footsteps, Alfred raised the hammer high again. Ludwig, however didn't seem deterred. "Please put that down. I am _not_ planning to harm you in any way."

"Like I'll believe the word of a fucking Nazi!"

Ludwig groaned. "Please, Alfred—"

"Who gave you the right to use my name?" He shrieked. Ludwig kept advancing, and Alfred's burnt arms were starting to give from their lack of energy. He held onto the hammer with both hands now, his weak muscles causing his fingers to shake. "Stay back!"

"Please, _Herr_ Jones—"

"Don't use your fucking German on me!"

"I can do nothing right by you, can I? Just because I am _Schutzstaffel_." Alfred could almost picture the man shaking his head.

"Don't try to fool me! I know you're up to something!"

"The only thing I am up to is attempting to get you safely home. I obligate myself to nursing you back to health. I take time from my day to sneak you food. I risk my _life_ for you. If I was to be found out, _both_ of us would die. They would come here and interrogate you before _shooting_ you. Would you prefer that instead? It is what would've happened if I had reported you to my superiors."

Alfred felt his voice catch in his throat. Either Ludwig was the best actor in the world, or he was telling the truth. The man sounded incredibly choked up. Alfred couldn't have faked that emotion in his voice if he tried his hardest, much less this flawlessly. _Something_ was up here. Was Ludwig really telling the truth? Was he honestly risking his own _life_ to protect Alfred? It was senseless. It was ludicrous. Why would a man this entwined in the German government want to risk _anything_ for a random American pilot? There _had_ to be more to this story. Curiosity clawed at Alfred's brain, inching its way forward into the forefront of his thoughts.

So he gave in and asked, "Why?"

Ludwig said nothing.

"I _want_ to believe you. I really do. I want to believe that somehow, some way, I crashed in the view of the one single good-hearted Nazi that would take care of me and help me. But the odds of that are astronomical. It doesn't make any sense. Why would that one lucky person be _me_ of all people? How stupidly optimistic could I possibly be to believe such a ludicrous story on a whim? You get what I'm saying, right? You understand why I keep panicking? It doesn't make sense to me that you…Please. I need to know _why!_"

He heard what sounded like Ludwig's knuckles cracking, and he felt a chill run down his spine. "I will make you lunch." The floorboards creaked loudly as Ludwig stomped out of the room.

"Ludwig!"

He paused, silence consuming the room for a split second. Then he spoke. "The last time I allowed someone like you to die, I ended up losing something irreplaceable." He resumed his sullen march. "I will not make that same mistake again."

Alfred was left alone then, the hand holding the hammer now limp on the bed.

* * *

Neither spoke as Alfred ate his meal, a simple sandwich. He didn't allow himself to complain. He'd sat the hammer down safely in the windowsill. He ate and drink silently, Ludwig making no sounds whatsoever. Alfred's head spun. Something had _obviously_ happened to Ludwig in the past, something that scarred him. Alfred couldn't help but imagine all sorts of scenarios that could possibly lead an SS officer to risk his life for a fallen American pilot. Some of them were totally implausible; some just seemed too mundane. It must have been something incredibly traumatizing.

On the other hand, Alfred could safely say he at least _partially_ believed Ludwig was really there to help him. He doubted the man had _no_ ulterior motives, but he at least felt safe enough to sit near the guy without a hammer pointed at him. _Enough_ being the key word. Ludwig still worked for the SS, and as far as Alfred was concerned, that meant he was dangerous no matter what the situation. He took another sip of water. After feeling the space around him long enough, he'd started getting a hang of where things were. This time, he sat the glass back in its place on the night table and continued eating without problems. Maybe one day, he imagined, he _could_ be self-sufficient again.

He took another bite of his sandwich.

"I sent a letter to your brother."

He choked.

"W-what?" He managed in between coughs.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine! Now, what the hell did you just say?"

"I said, I sent a letter to your brother."

"How?" What kind of connections did this guy have?

"I have my ways."

Oh, that didn't sound ominous at all.

"Uh, so, what did the letter say? And how did you know where to send it?"

"You told me you had a brother named Matthew. I did some research and came up with 'Matthew Williams,' who had 'Alfred Jones' listed as a brother."

"How did you research Americans from here?"

"…"

"Ah, right. SS." He murmured lowly. "So, what did it say?"

"Hmm?"

"The letter."

"That you are alive."

"That's it?"

"Was it supposed to say something else? I did not want to concern him with your condition. I figured telling him you are still living was enough to give him hope. Did you want him to know of your injuries?"

Alfred paused. Did he _really_ want Mattie to know he was blind and burned like this? The obvious answer was "No." What good would it do to have his twin know he was suffering like this? All it would do would make Mattie worry more, and Matt needed to keep himself together on the field. If he got too worked up over Alfred's disappearance…Alfred didn't want to consider the possibilities. He swallowed the last bit of the sandwich and turned toward the window.

"Thank you."

Ludwig grunted in response.

"I mean it. Don't get me wrong. I still don't really trust you or anything, but I really am grateful for you telling Matt. I can't imagine how he was feeling after he heard…about what happened to me." A flash of violent fire flickered through Alfred's mind, and he bit his lip, willing it to away. Every time he dared to give his…experience…a single thought, something like this happened.

"Do not think of it. You will trigger the memories."

"Yeah. I think I got that. You know something about it?"

"Something, perhaps."

"Right." Alfred felt around for the glass and finished off his water. "I guess I'll see you later, then."

Ludwig didn't move until he spoke. The plate and glass were quickly swiped away, and Ludwig trudged back toward the door. "I will come back again at the usual time."

"See you then." He whispered as the door closed behind the lumbering German. "See you then." He repeated, pressing his forehead against the cool windowsill. Matt knew now. Matt knew he was alive. Of course, that was all he knew, but Alfred imagined Mattie was a lot more relieved than he had been. He knew everyone considered him dead. How could they think otherwise? He went down in flames after getting shot to pieces by German fighters. Mattie had probably been told he was dead and gone ages ago. He shuddered at the thought of someone telling _him_ his brother was dead. He wouldn't have been able to bear it.

He sighed. Now he was _grateful_ to the Nazi bastard. Wonderful. What was next?

* * *

**Dro:** If only he knew...

**Next Chapter:** Ludwig tries to deal with his conscience. It would be a lot easier if his ass of a brother would stop bothering him.


	7. Of Secrecy & Retaliation

**Dro:** Sorry about not getting this out yesterday, but I did warn you last week. I had a take home American Lit. midterm to do yesterday, so I did that in my usual fanfiction writing times. -shrug- Hope you're not too upset. Here's the next chapter, regardless. Do **review**. I'd like to know if my characterization of Gilbert is decent.

**Chapter Summary: **Ludwig battles his conscience. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if it wasn't for his ass of a brother.

**Warnings:** Gilbert.

**Disclaimer: **Dro doesn't own APH. But I did own the plane Alfred was flying...until I blew it up in the prologue.

* * *

He could feel the eyes trailing him through the window as he marched up to the door, eyes that had not been there the day before. Ludwig sighed inwardly as a lower officer opened the door for him, and he stepped inside the house, knowing full well what was coming but hardly prepared for it. He counted down the seconds. Fünf. Vier. Drei. Zwei. Eins.

"_Well, if it isn't my uptight little brother!"_ Gilbert glided down the stairs, pale hair glimmering in the light of the hallway. The other officers scuttled out of Gilbert's way, disappearing into other rooms in anticipation of the impending confrontation. Ludwig stood his ground, arms crossed. Gilbert smiled deceptively as he strode closer. Then he was just _there_, right in Ludwig's face, that half-mad angry glint in his eyes that drove a spike through Ludwig's brain, clearing screaming "We need to talk!"

Then Gilbert had his arm and was dragging up the stairs, mumbling to himself. Ludwig sighed out loud this time. He'd known this storm had been approaching for a while, but he'd hoped Gilbert would at least _try_ to act rationally this time. Vain hope. Such a vain, vain hope. Gilbert hauled him down the hallway of the upper floor, wrenched open a door, and practically threw him inside the room. Just as Ludwig finally regained his bearings, the door slammed closed behind him. Pinching the bridge of his nose and swearing softly, he turned to face the cross-armed Gilbert, who stared at him accusingly.

"_What?"_

"_You know what."_ Gilbert impatiently tapped his foot on the ground. _"You tricked me into what could have been a suicide mission! You better damn well explain yourself."_

"_Brother, listen. I told you it was of the utmost importance. And I wasn't lying."_

"_Bull shit! I checked out your story. There was no reason whatsoever you needed to give a message to that insignificant brat. Spying mission, my ass. Now tell me what that was really for!"_

Ludwig wanted to beat his head against the wall. He'd known something like this was bound to had no talent for knowing his place or keeping out of other peoples' business. _"Brother. This is a private matter. Let it go." _On some level, it _was_ simply a private matter. He was nursing a man back to health. Unfortunately, that man's identity could cause a scandal, and if Ludwig wasn't careful, two executions. But of course, Gilbert missed the hint.

"_I will not 'let it go.' I think you've been hiding enough from me lately. I swear to God if you're doing something dangerous—"_

"_Isn't that your job?" _

Gilbert scowled. _"This isn't funny, Ludwig! You sent me to the front lines! I could've gotten killed. And for what? To deliver a message to some stupid kid?"_

"_You don't even know what you're arguing about."_

Gilbert groaned. _"Because you won't tell me! I want to know what exact it is you've gotten me involved in."_

"_You don't have to be involved anymore. The only reason I asked you to do that was because I couldn't myself."_

"_And why not?"_

He knew Gilbert was just baiting him, and he shirked off the man's question. _"What's important is that you made it back. I'm glad you're safe." _He made to brush past the older man, but a hand roughly gripped his shoulder.

"_Ludwig," _Gilbert's voice sank to a dangerously low level, _"I don't like it when you hide things from me. If you're doing something stupid, I swear…" _He sighed. _"Come on, brother, what would Roderich think?"_

Ludwig recoiled like something had burned him. _"Do not speak of him!"_ He clenched his fists, air huffing loudly as he inhaled and exhaled. Gilbert was frozen to the spot. Ludwig slowly back away, blinking rapidly, trying to banish the recurring images of surging flames and lung-choking smoke and agonized screams. _"You know nothing. So just let it go." _He warned through tight lips. The door slammed behind him as he swept out of the room. He didn't particularly care who heard it.

An hour later, as Ludwig sat in office, continually distracted as his eyes drifted to the faded black and white photograph on his desk, Gilbert finally dared to knock on the door. Ludwig's eyes lingered on the proud man in the picture. Next to him was a beautiful young woman. A pang off guilt battered at his chest. He rubbed his temples.

"_Come in, then. Don't just stand out there bothering people." _He said to the door. Gilbert opened it a crack at a first, apparently peeking in to check and make sure Ludwig wasn't aiming any weapons at him. He slipped inside quietly and shut the door behind him. He said nothing at first, instead choosing to slide into the chair in front of Ludwig's desk. Ludwig didn't spare him another glance.

As usual, Gilbert couldn't stay still or silent very long. After about five minutes, he was fidgeting wildly, his eyes darting around the room as he desperately tried to cure his boredom. Finally, he gave up and starting talking. _"I'm sorry about earlier. I was an ass for bringing it up."_

Ludwig pursed his lips. _"You're an ass regardless."_

Gilbert feigned hurt. _"Ouch, brother. When did you get so cold?"_

"_Have I not always been this way?"_

A look of devastation briefly flashed through Gilbert's eyes, and Ludwig found himself confused. But before he question it, the man changed the subject. _"So, what are you doing?"_

Ludwig frowned. _"What does it look like? I have work to do, and last I checked, so do you."_

"_I though you were going mine for me." _Gilbert whined.

"_That was while you were gone. You're back, so get back to work."_

Gilbert snorted. _"Right. While I was out on your little 'secret mission.' Personally, I think you should do all my work for say, the next year, considering I risked my life to deliver a _letter_ to some American kid."_

"_I thought I told you to let it go?"_

"_Since when do I listen to you? I'm the older brother, remember? You should be doing what _I_ say."_

"_Can't you just drop it? Please? I told you, it's a private matter. It doesn't concern you in any way."_

Gilbert looked skeptical. _"What kind of 'private matter' involves sending letters to young American soldiers?"_

"_It's none of your business." _

Gilbert leaned back in his chair. _"Look, Ludwig, if you have some kind of secret orders, that's fine and all. Just tell me that. And I'll stop bothering you. However, with the way you're acting right now, I'm starting to get more and more convinced that's not the case." _Red-toned irises scrutinized him, and Ludwig cursed himself. He should've just gone with that excuse! A headache started sprouting in his left temple. Great. Just what he needed, _another_ headache. Then again, he much preferred the one in his head to the one sitting in the chair.

Gilbert had crossed his legs, his arms resting on each the chair's armrests, fingers tapping on the wood. There was a knowing glint in the man's eyes, and Ludwig suddenly felt _exposed._

"_What?"_

"_I asked some of the guys where you were when I got back."_

"_And?"_

"_And they didn't know."_

"_And?"_

"_And they said you've been disappearing a few times everyday."_

"And?"

"_And that's kind of suspicious, don't you think? Where've you been going?"_

"_Walks."_

Gilbert raised a pale eyebrow. _"Walks?"_

"_They're peaceful." _He tapped a stack of papers on the desk to align them. _"They're a great way to relieve frustration. Perhaps you try them sometime instead of swearing at inferior officers."_

Gilbert looked floored. _"You expect me to believe that? That you go on two hour or longer _walks_ everyday? You've got to be joking."_

"_Do you have a reason not to believe me?_" He pushed his chair back and clipped the papers together. They needed to be mailed out to the capital.

"_I have every reason not to believe you." _Gilbert furrowed his brows. _"What the hell has gotten into you, Ludwig? You never used to keep things like this from me."_

"_Things like what?"_

"_Well, I…"_

"_If you don't know what you're accusing someone of, you probably shouldn't do it." _He shuffled past his desk and out his office before Gilbert had another chance to speak. The last thing Ludwig heard was a mumbled "I know you're lying to me." And that was fine with Ludwig. As long as Gilbert didn't know _what_ he was lying about. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pissed the man off like this, and it wouldn't be the last. Gilbert would deal with it.

* * *

Gilbert was annoyed. His eyes stayed glued to Ludwig, who had been ignoring him. He growled under his breath. He had no clue what it was his brother was hiding from him, and it was itching at his mind so badly. He _had_ to know. So he'd started formulating a plan. He knew Ludwig would be watching for a shadow trailing him. Hell, his brother had probably been checking for anyone following him all along. He'd probably covered his tracks incredibly well. Ludwig was meticulous with every plan he carried out. However, those plans were usually readily available to Gilbert's knowledge. It was rare that Ludwig hid something from him. He was sure after he delivered his brother's message that the man would let him in on the big secret, but that idiot was still being obstinate about it.

So he would just have to find out for himself.

He'd asked around to clarify what exact times Ludwig went on his "walks." Then he'd left the house they were using as a makeshift base and marched into town, questioning the locals. Someone had to have seen Ludwig around, right? As it turned out, _everyone_ had. Apparently, Ludwig stopped by several stores multiple times a week to buy food and supplies. Much more than one person would need. And last he checked, Ludwig wasn't in charge for getting their team food. So where was it going? Every discovery he made about Ludwig's actions just left him with more questions. _What_ was his brother doing?

He felt like he had a lot of pieces that didn't find together. What did buying food (for someone else supposedly), disappearing twice a day, and delivering mysterious letters to American soldiers have in common? What was he doing, taking care of someone? The thought made him pause. That actually _did_ fit. Buying extra provisions. Going to…what? Check on someone a few times per day? And the letter…his first paused just as it was about to slam into the wooden door of a supply store.

That couldn't be right. There was no way he was on the right track with this. There was no way his brother was doing something _that_ farfetched and crazy. His brother was the guy that always followed the rules. He didn't take unnecessary risks. He certainly didn't extend a helping hand to anyone out of his immediate "friend zone." So Gilbert _had_ to be wrong about this. There was no was Ludwig was…or was there? He couldn't shake the thought.

Which is how he found himself secretly stalking his own brother as the man walked down the dirt road. Well, he supposed he really couldn't say Ludwig _lied_. He _was_ taking a walk. But it was his destination that seemed to have been left out of the explanation. He saw Ludwig pause several times and peer over his shoulder, obviously paranoid about someone following him. Which, of course, he had good reason to be. Because he _was_ being followed. Gilbert squinted, trying to focus in on his brother's form. He was following with a large gap between them, unwilling to risk being discovered.

Luckily, it wasn't really that hard to trail him. They were stationed in a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere. Ludwig was walking down a dirt road that intermittently cut through woods and fields and branched off to the horizon. Seeing as he was the only one on the road, he wasn't exactly hard to spot. So Gilbert tracked his movements easily, losing sight of him only once, as his brother clambered over a hill and disappeared onto other side. Gilbert sped up slightly, coming to rest on the top of the hill. He peeked over, his eyes capturing his brother again just as he entered through the door of a old farmhouse.

A farmhouse. Well, that was inconspicuous. And oh, the perfect place for _someone_ to be hidden. Gilbert stayed perched on the hilltop, his eyes roving over the house, lingering on each window until he found the movement he was looking for. He was too far away to see exactly who it was, but he could distinguish two separate figures, one sitting near the window and another behind him. Logically, the one in the background was Ludwig. The pair seemed to be having a conversation.

_Got you, Ludwig. I've got you now._ He sure did. He watched as his brother disappeared again, reappearing downstairs in what Gilbert assumed was a kitchen. Yeah, he completely had his brother now. The game was up. The only question was, what game was it? Gilbert couldn't confront Ludwig about it. That would end in disaster. So he only had one other choice. He'd have to investigate himself. _Tomorrow,_ he promised himself, _I'll find out exactly who you're hiding._

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** Gilbert. He's enough of a warning on his own.

**Next Chapter: **Matthew comes up with a crazy plan while on a week of leave. Somehow, Arthur ends up involved.


	8. Of Recklessness & Discovery

**Dro:** It's that time again! Setting up a huge arc of this story this chapter. Don't forget to **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew formulates a crazy, reckless plan. Somehow, Arthur gets involved at the end.

**Warnings:** Violence; Language

**Disclaimer:** The usual. Dro own nothing except her storyline. And the random, meaningless OCs.

* * *

He sat on an old, rickety chair in the dimly lit back room of a smoke-filled noisy bar. The light hanging over the small table in the middle shown down a single piece of paper. It was a well-read and often-held piece of paper if the crinkles and fold marks and dirt streaks and finger prints and tiny little tears in the corner had anything to say about it. On the paper was a single sentence, a sentence now smudged from tears and finger grease and rainwater. But it was still intact, this paper, and it still held the same message it had a week ago.

'_Your brother is alive.'_

Matthew leaned back in the chair, ignoring its loud groaning. He'd been contemplating what to do about that message for days now. It had consumed his thoughts, his dreams, every waking and sleeping moment. He'd been lost in that idea some mornings, some nights, even to the point where he lost focus of the bullets barreling across no man's land toward him. His distracted brain had almost cost him his life. He absentmindedly touched his shoulder, feeling the bandages beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. But it had given him an opportunity. He had a week of leave now. He'd been moved from the field hospital two days ago after they'd dug the bullet out of his shoulder. It hadn't been a deep wound, but it was enough to his impair his ability to fire a gun for a good while.

So here he was, back at that too familiar bar in London, with its too familiar smells and too familiar sounds. He swore at least once every five minutes he heard Alfred's cheery voice, teasing and prodding at Arthur to make the man blush. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Maybe one day, he could really see that again. Because Alfred was _alive_. Matthew wasn't stupid. He knew it was crazy to trust just anyone's word. Hell, an _SS officer _had given him this letter. The problem was, nothing else but the letter's statement made sense. Al wasn't of worth to the Nazis. He didn't know any top secret information. And neither did Matthew. If he'd been captured after crash-landing, he would've been long dead by now. Matthew couldn't explain just _who_ had helped Alfred or _why_, but the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that his brother was truly alive and well somewhere in Germany. Behind enemy lines.

That was the problem though, wasn't it? How was he supposed to get his brother back if he was in Axis territory? There was no way the Allies would be pushing that far into Germany anytime soon. Because he'd checked, and that little hard-to-pronounce town was somewhere in the German countryside and nowhere near the front. It could very well be until the end of the war before Matthew was able to go there and see if his brother was really there and alive. How would he stand that? Not knowing was slowly eating away at him. He had to find out the truth. But the only possible ways of doing that were…not really options. He would have to find a way to sneak into Germany, past the German army. This would also involve him going AWOL. If he left, managed to find Al, and came back, he'd end up court marshaled. That is, if they _knew_ he'd run off to Germany. Now, if he went missing on the _battlefield_…

There was an idea. It was a long shot, but it was a workable idea. MIA. Much better than AWOL. But then he would have to come up with an excuse when he returned. Of course, that was assuming he didn't die in the process. He could very well actually be killed in action trying to do something this rash. But he _had_ to find Al. He wrung his hands on his pants. Al was usually the reckless one. Not him. But in this case, it seemed, they would need to reverse roles. Matthew refused to leave his brother in Nazi Germany for what could be _years_ until this war was over. He would sneak into Germany. He would find Al. And he would bring him home.

* * *

Bomb blasts littered the battlefield. Sparks. Fire. Dirt. Blood. Everything of all the colors of death sprayed into the air. Matthew kept running. Charles was next to him. They dived into the next trench. They'd pushed the Germans back this time. They were winning this battle. Matthew glanced to the side, where the rest of his team was hiding. One of them gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded. The guilt gnawed away at him. His absence could very well cost them their lives. He knew it was wrong, weighing the slim possibility of saving Alfred as something greater than his comrades' lives. If anyone ever found what he'd done, he'd been in jail for a long, long time. But he didn't care. He didn't care if was sentenced to life as long as he brought Alfred home.

They were up again, charging forward, a hundred more men before them, a hundred more behind, the ground already littered with hundreds more. Matthew started to shift to the side. His planned route to Germany had been carefully chosen after many long hours of strategizing. He'd made it so he could carefully weave around the German army undetected, but of course, that involved him living through this nightmare first. For all he knew, he would die within the next five minutes. All it took was one bullet or well-aimed grenade.

But neither of those ever hit him.

He heard his opportunity screaming as it fell from the sky. "Watch out!" He shrieked at the top of his lungs. His friends scattered as Matthew dived out of the way, the explosion ringing in his ears as the force of the blast blew him sideways. He landed in the mud face first, dirt and blood stinging his eyes. But it didn't matter now. He was alone. His friends were out of sight. His allies quickly scattering. Phase one: complete. _Now for the really hard part…_

_

* * *

_

Arthur stood around the table, staring intently at the map. Occasionally, one of his peers would offer a strategy suggestion, Arthur would consider it, someone else would counter it with a better one, and they would move on. His was really struggling here. It was hot. It was dry. He was dead tired. He hadn't slept in two days. And the enemies were _still_ coming in droves. He wanted to beat his head against the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Their lines were starting to lose ground now. If they didn't regain it soon, the lose all the momentum they'd gained in the last two weeks. They would've lost all those men for nothing. That was what he hated about this war. You fought for a month, lost ten thousand men, and your reward was half a mile. Nothing.

"Lieutenant Colonel."

He looked up from the table, the muscles in his stiff shoulders aching. "Yes?"

"You have an emergency phone call."

"What?" Arthur felt a sense of dread creeping up his spine.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what it's about."

"Um, right." He glanced at the man to his left, whose name he couldn't recall in his exhausted haze. "Take over. I'll be right back."

"Yes, sir."

Then he was outside in the searing heat, and then he was in a jeep, and then the wind was whipping past them as the man drove him down the road for less than a minute. And then it was back to the searing it for a few seconds until the man ushered him inside again, down a hallway, and to a phone. And then he vanished. Or maybe he just walked away. Arthur was too tired to tell the difference. He held the phone to his ear.

"Arthur Kirkland speaking."

"Lieutenant Colonel, this is Colonel Avery Scott." An American voice he was all too familiar with spoke up on the other side.

"Ah, sir…" He was suddenly at a loss for words. If _Matthew's_ superior was calling him so suddenly…No. No, it couldn't be that.

"You probably already know what I called to tell you."

Arthur's heart pounded at his ribcage. "You can't be saying…"

"Corporal Williams is MIA."

Arthur felt the floor drop from beneath him. Later, he would realize, it was just his legs giving out on him. "No…" What else was there to say?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland. Matthew…he was a good kid."

"There's no chance of finding him?"

"It's unlikely. It probably won't be long before he's relisted as KIA. He was lost in the middle of a battle. We're searching now for all our casualties, but we rarely find them all. I'll keep you updated. Hopefully, I can at least send him home for you to bury peacefully. I know you didn't get the same opportunity for his brother. I'll try my hardest to locate him."

To locate him. His body. Matthew's body. Arthur's mouth felt like cotton. His stomach burned with acid. Not him too. Not Matthew. Not so soon. The phone shook in his hand. His lip beaded with blood as he bit through the chapped skin, trying desperately to hold back his hopeless sobs.

"T-thank you, sir."

"…Mr. Kirkland. I'm truly sorry."

"Aren't w-we all when we lose children to war?" The tears broke through.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose we are."

* * *

_Damn the bombs. _Arthur touched the bandage on his face, staring at it in the mirror. First, he'd lost Matthew. Then he'd ended up suffering from an impromptu bombing. _Fucking Axis! Damn them all to hell!_ He'd probably have a scar on his temple now. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and stuck his hat back on his head. He had a plane to catch. A plane to France. He'd have to make arrangements for Matthew too, he supposed. He paused before he stood up, taking one last, long gaze at himself in the mirror. Empty. That's what his eyes looked like now. Completely empty.

Just like his life.

He'd give all the medals of valor in the world, all his strength, his title…his life. He'd give up everything he had if it would bring those boys back. But pleading was pointless, he'd learned after Alfred's death. God no longer guided men at war. So he turned from the mirror and walked away. Because doing anything else was pointless now.

When he arrived in France, it was dreary and bleak. The sky was gray and overcast, the ground was damp with yesterday's rain. _Perfect_, Arthur thought. _The perfect weather to reflect what's happening here. _He was greeted by some nameless soldier and escorted to some meaningless car and driven toward a base he didn't care to inquire much about. He didn't care much at all now. He couldn't bring himself to. How selfish could he be to care about inane things when the two most important things in his life were now gone? Gone. Matthew and Alfred were gone. If there was a heaven—for he had longed stopped believing one existed—he hoped and prayed the brothers were reunited there. Maybe they could finally spend eternity in peace. There lives had certainly had enough turmoil.

Inside the dull-colored military base, Arthur was greeted with the only thing they'd managed to find of Matthew's: his pack. It was stained with dirt and blood, but it was intact. Arthur ran his fingers over the name, tracing the letters. Matthew Williams. To the rest of the world, he was just another nameless casualty of war. But he'd been half of Arthur's heart, and now that was gone too. His heart had already been hemorrhaging after the first half had been torn off. Now his chest was empty. Numb.

He unzipped some of the pockets, ruffling through Matthew's things. Most of it was standard equipment. There were few personal items to distinguish Matthew from any other soldier. He sifted through the things in the front pocket, fingers brushing against something foreign. He pulled it out. It was an envelope with Matthew's name on the outside. A letter.

A letter? Who was Matthew getting letters from? He hadn't written any. Perhaps he had some secret sweetheart that Arthur didn't know about? Well, Matthew _was _the shy one. It was always a possibility that he'd just been too embarrassed to tell anyone he'd met a girl. He turned the envelope over in his hands, slipping the piece of paper out of it. He froze.

On the front of the letter was the name of a town. A German town. Confusion was the least of Arthur's problems. What the hell was Matthew doing with a letter from Germany? Arthur's fingers shook at he unfolded the paper, his heart racing. What would it say? What could it say? A thousand possibilities. A million. Most of them terrifying and unthinkable.

And yet none of them even neared the truth.

Not one.

One of his hands dropped to his side, limp and lifeless.

It couldn't be true.

It just _couldn't_.

And yet there it was, written on a flimsy sheet of paper.

A declaration that Alfred was still alive.

And someone, some how, had gotten this to Matthew.

And Matthew had…

"_Corporal Williams is MIA."_

MIA.

Matthew had…

_Oh my God._

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** Well, this isn't going to end well...

**Next Chapter:** Gilbert sneaks into the farmhouse to confront the mystery man his brother is hiding. He gets quite the shock...or should I say headache?


	9. Of Impatience & Retaliation

**Dro: **For those who don't know, FF's story editor isn't working properly, so most people haven't been able to submit updates since, like, Friday. So, this was already supposed to out here (I stuck it on LJ yesterday though). Anyway, here it is finally! Please do read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Gilbert lets his curiosity get the best of him. And pays for it.

**Warnings:** Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** Nope. Still don't own.

* * *

It seemed like a perfectly normal rundown little farmhouse in the country. It wasn't the usual place you'd think of when it came to uncovering vast, dangerous secrets. And yet here Gilbert was, sneaking into the place, eyes alert for any hint of movement whatsoever. He'd left Ludwig sitting in his office, completely absorbed in his paperwork. The man didn't suspect a thing, much less that his older brother had discovered the location of his big secret.

Who was this boy? Gilbert had been considering his options since the night before. What kind of person would his brother choose to take care of? Ludwig was typically good at ignoring the plight of other's, a skill he'd developed other the years and mastered after…_it_ happened. So why now? Why take someone in like this? Whoever was in that room was obviously someone of consequence, else Ludwig wouldn't have bothered to hide his existence. Ludwig was risking something here. Which was incredibly rare for his uptight little brother. And that fact only made Gilbert all the more giddy to find out the true nature of his brother's hidden charge.

He froze as the floorboard underneath his boot creaked. _Shit_. He glanced up at the ceiling, waiting for the sounds of quick movement. Maybe the person would assume he was Ludwig? Probably not, considering Ludwig only came at the exact same times everyday. He waited. After hearing nothing for several seconds, he continued toward the stairs. Maybe the man was asleep. It was still early. Gilbert tiptoed silently up the steps, easing his feet down to avoid loud creaks and groans. _Stupid old house. Going to get me in deep shit if I'm not careful._ For all he knew, this guy was armed and dangerous.

When he reached the second floor landing, he surveyed the hallway. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and it was totally quiet, no sounds whatsoever other than Gilbert's own breathing. A little _too_ quiet if you asked Gilbert. What if the man _had_ heard him and was waiting to ambush him? He looked around for any place for someone to hide in wait, but he didn't find any viable spots. _You're crazy, Gilbert. You have a gun, damn it!_ At that thought, he took it from its holster, checked it was loaded, and gripped it tightly, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

He walked slowly down the hallway, careful to listen for any sounds. His hand landed on the handle of the first door. He pushed it open—thankfully silently—to find an empty, dusty room. Of course he knew that _should_ be the case, since the man was staying in the second room on this floor, but you couldn't be too careful. He snorted to himself. _That_ sounded like something Ludwig would say. _That bastard is starting to rub off on me. Ick. I need to watch myself._

He shuffled down to the second room, standing motionlessly in front of the door for several seconds. _Just do it, Gilbert! Come on! _He gripped the old, rusted handle, turned it slowly, and pushed the door open, raising his gun slightly. As the gap widened, the door swinging around toward the wall, a room came into Gilbert's field of vision. First, he saw a shiny, clean closet, obviously recently polished. Then he saw a corner, then a window, then a bed with an bandaged occupant…

…then a hammer heading straight for his head.

It slammed into him right between his eyes, sending him tumbling backward. His head smacked into the floor with a loud thump, and he yelped. "_Ow! What the fuck? You little bastard! I'll kill for you that!" _He pressed a hand against his throbbing forehead, bringing it back down to see a red smear on his fingers._ "You broke the skin, damn it!"_ He stumbled back up, slightly dizzy as the blood dripped down over the bridge of his nose. He whipped up his gun, aiming it at the boy on the bed.

The boy.

He froze.

Because that's indeed what he was.

A boy.

He couldn't be out of his teens yet, Gilbert knew. The arm with the gun went limp at his side as he drank in the sight of the boy in front of him. Short, fair blond hair. Bandages covering a significant portion of his body…including his eyes. He hadn't even been able to see where he was aiming that hammer, and it had still hit Gilbert dead on. _Damn. Kid's good._ The boy's lips were drawn into a tight frown. He snarled at Gilbert, body tense.

"Who are you?" He said. In English. American English. _An American? What the hell is Ludwig doing hiding an American?_ Gilbert started to advance, but the boy recoiled, pressing himself up against the window. "Stay away from me. Don't come any closer. Tell me who you are."

The hammer had apparently been his only weapon. Gilbert, knowing the boy had no threat to use against him, kept shifting himself closer, scrutinizing the boy's injuries. With so many bandages, what could his injuries be? Certainly not just cuts and bruises. But how many injuries could you possibly have to require that many bandages and still live? You could only lose so much blood. And then it clicked.

Burns.

The boy had been burned.

And then it all made sense.

He silently cursed his brother. _Damn you, Ludwig. You never did get over it, did you? _Gilbert nearly smacked himself in the head. _Of course_ Ludwig would've saved a poor burned-up kid. Every time the guy saw fire, he left reality and ended up in a past both of them would much rather forget. Ludwig had been sensitive to fire and burning every since _it_ had happened, and whenever he saw anyone with burns, he immediately lost his façade of stern coldness. _But to go so far as to rescue an enemy soldier? _Because that _had_ to be who the boy was.

Gilbert coughed. It had been a while since he'd spoken English. "You are…American soldier?"

The boy stiffened. "_Pilot_." He spat back.

_Oh._ Gilbert cringed, his eyes focusing on the bandages that covered the boy's obviously permanently damaged eyes. "Shot down?"

"More like blown up." The boy sneered.

He grimaced. This kid had been through hell and back. How the hell was he even still alive? He must've really had his God on his side that day. "How much time…'ave you been here?"

"What does that matter? Tell me who you are. Are you here to kill me?"

Logically, that was both what the boy would have assumed and what Gilbert should have done in reality. The boy was a danger to Ludwig's safety. His brother's sensitivities could cost him his life if he wasn't careful. Gilbert should've just shot the poor kid. He was too big a risk. But despite the fact he had a gun in his hand, despite the fact that he got so far as to point it straight at the boy's head at point blank range—at which point the boy froze in fear, lips slightly parted in a silent gasp as he realized what was about to happen to him—Gilbert couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

He put the handgun back in its holster. "_Damn you, kid._" He muttered. "I vill…not harm you."

The boy swallowed nervously. "Why should I trust you?"

"You 'ave no real choice in this matter, ja? If I vant, I could 'ave just killed you now." And he should have, damn it! He was getting soft. This could quite possibly end up being the biggest mistake of his life. It could cost Ludwig his life. It cost _him_ his life seeing as keeping it a secret made him an accomplice. But fuck it all, he couldn't do it! The kid was just too pitiful.

"Who _are_ you?"

He sighed. "Gilbert Beilschmidt. I am Ludvig's _bruder_."

"You're…you're Ludwig's ass of a brother?"

Gilbert gaped. "He calls me that to _other people?_"

"That was…all he really told me about you, actually. Why are you here? Did Ludwig send you?"

Gilbert shook his head, groaning. "I cannot believe this. I am not an ass! That is supposed to be a joke! I cannot believe he says that to other people."

"Um…"

"Sorry." He paused. "Nein. Ludvig did not send me. I followed him here to find out vhat he vas hiding from me."

"So you weren't supposed to know about me?"

"Nein. But now I do, ja? You 'ave a name?"

The boy bit his lip. "Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

Gilbert huffed. "Alfred F. Jones, American fighter pilot, eh?"

He turned his head away. "Former." He murmured.

Gilbert suddenly felt guilty. _Ah! Guilt! Go away, damn it! _But it was too late. "I am…sorry…"

Alfred shrugged. "Don't be. It's done. I need to get over it, I guess. It's not like I have a redo on life."

Oh wow, now he really felt bad. The kid was obviously fighting off some trauma here. "So, you trust me?"

"That depends, are you trustworthy? I could've sworn you pointed a gun at me earlier."

"Ah, I did, because it vould be better to kill you for me."

Alfred tensed. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because you make me feel bad, damn it! I can't kill hurt little boy. Especially because Ludvig saved you! It vould hurt him too, ja? He is my _bruder_. I cannot harm my _bruder."_

Alfred snorted. "Right. Pity. Makes sense. I do look pretty pathetic, I imagine. Helpless. Blind. Broken." He leaned his head against the glass and sighed.

"There is no shame to letting others help you vhen you are hurt, boy."

"You're the enemy. I'm supposed to be fighting you, not under your care."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You live! That is more than thousands of your comrades can say. You should accept that you 'ave been granted life and be happy about it."

Alfred was silent. He traced shapes on the glass with a finger. Gilbert felt a surge of annoyance run through him. He whipped up his gun, pressed it under the boy's chin, and forced the boy to face him. "You listen to me, boy. My _bruder_ risks his life every day to come 'ere to care for you. The least that you could do is be happy about it. He could 'ave and should 'ave left you to die. If he is caught, he vill be executed for treason."

Alfred swallowed roughly against the pressure of the gun on his chin. "I…I'm sorry…that's not…I didn't mean…"

"_Gilbert!"_

Gilbert faltered and whirled around to find his shocked brother standing in the doorway. _"Ludwig."_

"_What are you doing?"_

"_It's not what it looks like! I wasn't going to hurt him! I swear." _He held up his hands in surrender, which would've been more effective, he surmised, if he hadn't been holding his gun in one of them.

Ludwig was fuming. _"Come here. Now."_

Gilbert hesitantly walked out of the room, jumping as Ludwig slammed the door behind him. He cringed inwardly just before turning to face his enraged younger sibling.

"_What were you thinking? How dare you come here! Did you follow me?"_

"_You were hiding things from me. What was I supposed to do?"_

"_Mind your own business!"_

Gilbert put his hands on his hips. _"When I have ever done that?"_

"_Never! And that is the problem with you. If you are not careful, we will end up dead."_

Gilbert let his mouth fall open. _"You're the one harboring a enemy pilot! I had nothing to do with this at all. But no, you just had to act all suspicious. So I followed you to find out what you were hiding. Can you really blame me?"_

"_Yes. I can, and I will."_ Ludwig ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. _"You were threatening him. Were you planning to kill him?"_

"_No! He was acting all ungrateful, so I told him just how much you're risking."_

"_He knows that already, Gilbert. He is just emotionally damaged from crashing to the ground in a burning plane! Things like that tend to negatively affect people."_

Gilbert pursed his lips. Of course, Ludwig was also silently referring to himself. And because of that, Gilbert couldn't really think of a counter argument. _"Fine. I will be more gentle with him then."_

"_No, you will not see him again. If we both start disappearing, it will be too suspicious."_

"_Hey! If I'm going to be considered an accomplice to your treason, then I should at least get to be a part of it. If we're caught, I'm not dying for doing nothing."_

Ludwig groaned. _"You make no sense!" _He shook his head. _"So you want to help then?"_

Gilbert mulled the idea over. There was really no way to get out of this now, and he was too damn curious and interested to just walk away. _"Yes. Sure. I'll help you."_

Ludwig looked uncomfortable at the idea, but he conceded. _"Fine. You can help me. But we must arrange this in a way to divert suspicion from us."_

"_Shouldn't it be easier with two of us? With you disappearing everyday, I immediately thought it was suspicious. It we switch off, it shouldn't be as obvious."_

"_That is…true…"_

"_We can discuss all this later." _He suddenly noticed Ludwig had a bag of food with him. _"You going to fix that for the kid?"_

"_Oh. Yes." _Ludwig shifted on his feet. _"You can talk with more if you'd like…just, don't threaten him anymore."_

Gilbert scowled. _"What kind of person do you think I am?"_

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. _"I believe we've discussed this before. You're an ass." _He smirked. _"By the way, what happened to your head?"_

"…" He glanced to the left, refusing to meet his brother's eyes. _"The kid threw a hammer at me."_

Ludwig laughed. A lot.

* * *

**Dro: **Well, you reap what you sow, Gilbert...

**Next Chapter:** Arthur goes to the battlefield where Matt was last scene, only to end up caught in a bomb raid.


	10. Of Rashness & Inconspicuousness

**Dro: **I see FF still hasn't fixed (what I think is) a simple error. Silly FF. You really need to get on the ball. Anyway, here's another chapter for you. (I'm trying to get back on schedule, see...) So, you know the drill. Read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur goes to see the camp of Matthew's company to look for clues, only to get caught in a bomb raid. Torn, he makes a split second decision. Then we switch back to Matthew, whose having himself a rough time in the country.

**Warnings:** Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** This never changes. Never. And it never will.

* * *

Arthur numbly walked across the camp, weaving around tents, passing by wounded soldiers and exhausted medics and soldiers who had dropped into sleep on the ground after being pushed to their limits, the voices of arguing officers surrounding him as they figured out their next plan of action. The world seemed but a blur to him, a rush of color and light and unintelligible sound that only just pervaded his mental solitude. He gazed up at the overcast sky, wondering if it was the same where Matthew was, where Alfred was.

If Alfred was indeed alive, then Arthur had no doubt in his mind that Matthew was as well and that the boy had gone after him. Matthew had abandoned his post in the army to chase after what could very well be nothing but a lie, but he had done so out of desperation, Arthur knew. Matthew had been falling apart the last time Arthur had left him. He was crumbling from the inside out, and though he kept a stoic face, Arthur could see the pain that was slowly ripping the boy apart. Matthew had chased after the ghost of reality that was Alfred because…because he might very well have lost himself if he hadn't.

The last thing Arthur wanted to see was Matthew fall apart completely. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left that happen, but at the time when he'd returned to his own front, he hadn't a choice in the matter. There was a war going on, and people died, and though it was killing him inside, he'd been forced to tell himself to take the pain and keep going. He wondered how much worse it had been for Matthew, watching more and more of his friends and comrades dying everyday. How long would it have been before he broke?

And now he was gone, chasing a dream. If Alfred truly was alive, then Matthew _would_ find him. Arthur knew that much. The question was what Matthew would do if he did. How would he return to the front without ending up court marshaled? How would even get out of Germany alive? It was one thing sneaking past the lines by yourself, but how he would manage to evade every Nazi in Germany? The chances of him not getting caught were slim. And the very idea of what they would do him if he was caught…

He was interrupted by a dull buzzing filling his ears. It was incessant and irritating. He scowled, looking back down from the sky. But he paused mid-nod as his eyes latched onto something rapidly approaching. Several somethings. Planes. Bombers. _German_ bombers. The camp around him suddenly panicked from every angle, soldiers running for their lives, medics trying to carry wounded men to safety. The world around him had literally blurred now, a rush of frantic activity consuming every place he looked.

He made to move but stopped in his tracks. What did he do? Help the medics? Just run for his life? He watched the bombers as they swooped in, watched as a bomb descended from the sky, landing on the eastern side of the camp. The world vanished in a cloud of dirt and dust and debris and smoke, the burning stench of bodies filling the air. Arthur finally broke from his indecision. He ran.

In the direction of the bombers.

He would never know what compelled him to do it, to do something so foolish and rash. But he ran at full speed, swooping underneath one of the passing planes just as it dropped a bomb where he'd been standing before. The world zipped by him, the hum of the plane engines, the screams of the dying, the force of exploding bombs, all seeming to rush by him in an instant. He kept his eyes glued to his destination: the forest that led toward the front lines. He knew France well enough to know how to evade an army and reach the edge of the country undetected. That wasn't the problem. It was Germany that was the problem.

And the bombers. They were a problem.

They'd turned around for another sweep now, buzzing as they descended to drop another series of soldier-killing explosives. Arthur kept up his pace, the forest approaching at a rapid rate. He heard the bombs exploding behind him, felt the shockwaves as they landed one foot to close, but he kept running. He kept running until he leapt safely into the brush. Only then did he stop. He dared to turn around and give the battered camp one more look. Bodies were strewn across the ground, most of them in pieces. He shuddered as he took a breath and sucked in air. _I'm a fool for doing this. I'm not going to find Matthew or Alfred, and I'm going to end up dead._

But…His eyed widened as he realized. But he would much rather die than live without either of them, so even if did end up dead, what would it matter? If they _had_ both died, then would it really matter if he did too? He would see them again, he hoped, on the other side if they were already there. And if not, if by some shred of Godly mercy, they were both still out there somewhere, then he prayed that God would let him share that mercy, at least long enough to see them one last time.

And with that, he was off. He didn't bother to slow down until he'd made it several miles. By that point, he was struggling to breathe. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, his eyes flicking up toward that damned overcast sky, silently cursing the Nazis again and again. His boys might have been out there somewhere, somewhere in enemy territory, somewhere they were liable to die at any moment…he laughed bitterly. Then again, they had that possibility on their own side of the war, didn't they? He pushed himself off the rough bark of the tree and started walking. It would be a long journey and he had no supplies. He hadn't had time to even _think_ to get supplies, much less to run back to a tent and grab any. He was wearing nothing but his uniform, which, he grimaced at the thought, made him an obvious target. And he couldn't just walked into a Nazi-controlled town and buy something. He would have to steal some things when no one was looking.

One, desertion. Two, theft. He wondered how many other things he would end up adding to his lift of crimes. It would probably be like this the entire search. Lying, stealing, acting like a common criminal. But he didn't care what level he had to sink to if he found those boys at the end of all things. If Matthew was indeed alive, he would've been heading to the town mentioned in the letter. Arthur subconsciously felt for it in his pocket, where it had been since the day he'd first read it. And there it would stay until he found his boys. Or died in the process.

* * *

The sun beamed down on him, causing him to squint. He held his hand over his eyes, blocking its powerful rays, so he could take another look down the quiet dirt road. He'd been on this road since yesterday, when he'd finally—somehow—made it into Germany unscathed. Now he was just about lost, despite the fact he had a map, and he'd been walking aimlessly down this same road for what felt like forever. If he could just find a town—one with a name, preferably—to figure out where he was, he'd be set.

Sighing deeply, he continued on down the road. His shirt and pants were scratchy and dirty, his boots ill-fitting and pinching his toes. But it was the best he could've done on short notice. He'd actually snuck into someone's empty house and snagged these quickly. He hadn't really had time to try them on to see if they were comfortable. But they weren't a military uniform, and that was the important thing. His fatigues were scattered around the woods miles back. The only thing he had left was his tags, which were the coolest thing he was wearing. The metal stung coldly on his overheated skin, wiping against pooling sweat. He was _so_ hot. And he didn't have anything to drink.

He sincerely hoped he came to some form of viable drinking water soon. A clean enough looking pond. A stream. Anything really. He was just _really, really_ thirsty. The sun was relentless today. Where was that overcast, gray, cold, dreary, rainy weather that had plagued him and his friends for the past few weeks? If the weather wanted to switch moods when Matthew had a victory, the least it could do was be a _favorable_ change for him. Or maybe it was just mocking him. That sounded a hell of a lot more likely.

Everything seemed to be mocking him lately. When he'd tossed his pack to make it look like he'd lost it, he'd forgotten to take the damn letter out. If that fell into the wrong hands, he was in trouble. And potentially, Al was in trouble. _Damn, that was stupid of me._ His "escape" to Germany had been so intense in some parts, he'd started making foolish mistakes like that. He hoped he hadn't seriously screwed anything else up. He groaned, berating himself. He could do better than this. He _had_ to. Some parts of this trip could potentially be even _more_ dangerous. There was still the problem that he was in Germany but didn't speak German. He could, however, speak French, and could potentially pass himself off as a French defector. Which was definitely his plan if anything went awry and he actually ended up having to talk someone.

Which may have be the case at this exact moment, as he suddenly realized he heard the sound of a roaring engine barreling toward him on the road. He froze for second too many, trying to decide whether to run or hold his ground. Then he realized there was nowhere to run to. He was in a gap in the woods surrounded by field. _Shit. Of all times, why do they come now?_ He stood rigid at the edge of the road as a military jeep full of _German soldiers_ headed right for him. He tried his best to silence the alarm bells in his head that were screaming at him to run for his life, and he stood still, trying to keep a complacent, calm look on his face.

As soon as the soldiers spotted him, they immediately started chatting with one another. _I'm going to die. I'm so going to die._ The jeep slowed as it reached him, and it pulled to a stop right next to him, the soldiers inside scrutinizing him. At first, Matthew couldn't decide whether to look them in the eye or keep his eyes firmly planted on the dusty dirty road beneath his feet. One of the soldiers leaned out of the jeep, frowning, and looked him over.

"_Woher kommen Sie?" _He asked. Or at least, Matthew assumed he asked something because it sounded like a question. The only German word Matthew knew was "ja."

"_Ah, I came here from France."_ He answered in French, hoping that, even if none of them spoke it, they would get the idea they wanted him to.

The man speaking to him perked an eyebrow. _"__Franzose?"_ He turned back to the other men and motioned for one to enter the conversation. One of the men in the back clambered over the others and hopped out. Matthew _almost_ ran away right there. But he managed to hold his ground.

"_You are a French defector?"_ The man asked him in nearly perfect French. _Oh, thank God! _Matthew wanted to cry in pure elation.

"_Yes. I left my home a few days ago. I was hoping to simply find refuge in a nearby town. Is the nearest town far?"_

The man gazed at him for several seconds, seemingly judging if Matthew was telling the truth or not. Apparently, he decided the young looking blond boy could pass for a young Frenchman because he pointed down the road. _"Only about three kilometers down the road. There is a fork about a kilometer up. Take the left."_ He then waved Matthew off, both signaling for him to leave and silently telling his comrades that Matthew was just a harmless boy.

"_Thank you very much." _He started down the road at a leisurely pace, trying to keep himself from looking too stiff. He could feel their eyes on him for several seconds afterward, but they didn't make any move to chase after him. After he'd gotten about thirty feet away, the engine roared back to the life in the jeep, and the group drove off.

Matthew almost collapsed. _Holy crap that was close!_ And it would probably get closer. He'd gotten lucky that time, but what happened when someone he ran into didn't speak French or didn't buy his story? He really needed to work these kinks out before he had another situation like that. Learning to speak German would be a plus, but it wasn't like he had the time to do that. He wanted to get Al and get out as soon as possible. He would have to come up with something else.

"Uh, whatever…" He scowled at the bright sunlight again, cursing it, and started off back down the simple dirt road again.

* * *

**Dro:** I hoped you liked impromptu (and probably incorrect) German. Hooray for terrible translations! I love how I'm writing a fanfic about a Japanese story, but I never actually use any Japanese (which I study in school).

**Next Chapter:** Alfred settles into his new routine with Gilbert and Ludwig, but the longer he stays there, the more curious he becomes about the brother's pasts.


	11. Of Strength & Determination

**Dro: **I added a twist to this chapter I hadn't been planning. But I like it much better now. So **review** and tell me you do too.

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred grows accustomed to being with both brothers on a regular basis. But just as he adjusts, something happens that tests his will as well as his morals.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH. Seriously. I don't. If only...

* * *

Alfred tapped his fingers against the windowsill. His arms were hurting less and less everyday, his fingers regaining their fine motor functions, his legs feeling stronger and stronger as each day passed by. It would be a while before he could move normally again. He would need a lot of physical therapy to properly stretch the skin on his burnt legs. It would hurt, but he didn't particularly care about the pain. He'd faced so much of it at this point that it had become meaningless to him. He would get through any hardships he had to, as long they got him home in the end. Getting back on his feet was just step one.

The sound of spritely footsteps caught his ears, and he knew Gilbert was here. The brothers tended to switch off now—randomly, so as to not arouse suspicion, of course—and Alfred only knew who was coming when they got here. He could tell who they were by footsteps alone. Ludwig's steps were heavy and refined, repetitive and monotonous, strong and determined. Gilbert's footsteps were swift and light, sneaky and devious, hesitant and uncertain. Gilbert, despite his apparent brashness and recklessness, was actually a unnaturally cautious person. Even though Alfred couldn't see him, he could almost feel Gilbert scrutinizing the room every time he walked, almost like he was searching for an enemy hidden among the furniture.

He wondered if the man was like this everywhere, wearing a façade of pure arrogance and rashness that covered a deeply intelligent and guarded man. His guess was "probably," if Ludwig's stories about his brother's behavior were true. Gilbert _was_ an ass of a man sometimes. He teased and played pranks and intimidated others. He was rude beyond all reason. But Alfred was still coming to like the man even through all that. He and Alfred had one very important thing in common: they adored their brothers. They talked a lot about their respective siblings over lunch and dinner. Gilbert told stories of the childhood shenanigans that Ludwig and him used to get involved in when they were younger. Alfred responded with stories of own, and the two laughed at how both sets of brothers were such young delinquents.

Today, Gilbert walked in with his typical entrance. "Hey, kid! I have arrived!"

"I know, Gilbert." He chuckled. "I heard you when you walked in the door."

He scoffed. "You are too perceptive, you know that?" He set something on the floor. "Forget your eyesight. You should try and hone your hearing. It could come in handy some day."

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to. I mean, I can't exactly live on touch alone for the rest of my life."

Gilbert nodded. "Vhen you can valk again, ve'll vork on it, ja?"

Alfred snorted at Gilbert's accent. His was even worse than Ludwig's. He cut himself off, _feeling_ Gilbert's playful glare.

"You are making fun of my voice again, ja?"

"I'm sorry. It's just funny to hear you speak English. Your accent is too thick."

"Tch, vhy does that matter? I am understandable, right?"

"Barely." Alfred mumbled under his breath.

"I heard that!" Gilbert retorted. They were silent for two seconds. Then they both burst out laughing. "Ah, kid, let me go make you food. Be back in a few minutes."

He left the room still chuckling. Alfred listened to him go, smiling to himself. Gilbert had been coming for over a week now, and the more he stayed, the more Alfred warmed up to him. Ludwig would always ask him if Gilbert was treating him properly, and Gilbert would always ask him if Ludwig was still being "his usual uptight self," to which the answer was, of course, always, "yes." The brothers were quite different, and it made Alfred itch to know their history. All he knew was what they were from a small town, their father wasn't in the picture, and apparently, at some point, something tragic had happened to Ludwig that had made him partial to Alfred's situation. Of course, Alfred had no clue just what that tragic event was. Neither brother seemed to want to open up about it, so Alfred hadn't dared to ask them directly.

Gilbert creaked his way back up the noisy old stairs about half an hour later, slipping back inside the room with some kind of delicious smelling sandwich. "You should really like this, kid. Special wurst, I made this vith." He sat the plate next to Alfred, who had nearly become completely self-sufficient when it came to eating now. The only things he still had trouble with were soups. He felt for the sandwich, picked it up, and took a large bite. It was _delicious_.

"Mm. It's really good."

"Vell, of course it is! _I _made it."

Alfred rolled his eyes beneath his bandages. They'd stopped hurting a few days ago, and Alfred had finally been able to sleep without feeling them jolt with pain whenever he dared to twitch them. Granted, he still couldn't see anything out of them. Ludwig had changed his bandages the day prior, but the world around him was still a black abyss. It would more than likely always be that way, he knew, but no matter how much he assured himself that, a spark of hope still ignited whenever the bandages came off.

He ate and joked and laughed with Gilbert, wondering silently how it was he'd come to trust this Nazi and his brother. They were supposed to be enemies. They were supposed to have eternal animosity between the—eternal, of course, being until the end of the war. But something had worn away in him after days and days of this, some barrier that held that hatred in place. Without it, the loathing of the two brothers had dissipated, and he was left with something he dared to call a budding friendship. Three people like them, two SS officers and an American pilot were _not_ supposed to anything close to friends, but Alfred felt it was inevitable now. He could try and keep his American "ideals" in the forefront all he wanted, but there was no way on Earth he could stop himself from seeing these two people as his friends. Not when they were caring for him like this. Not when they were risking themselves like this.

He reached out absentmindedly for his water and was surprised to find nothing there. He waved his hand around, feeling the air for his glass. "Ah, Gilbert, have my recent spacial skills degraded, or is my water not on the nightstand?"

"Huh? Oh! Sorry, kid. I forgot it. Let me go get some." He rose from his chair and quickly shuffled down the stairs and into what Alfred assumed was a kitchen. He hadn't been to the lower level of the house yet. Ludwig was afraid he wasn't ready to travel that far. He shook his head. Who would've though that, just a few weeks ago, traveling down a set of steps would be _far_ to him? Then again, when he'd first woken up, the _bathroom_ was far. He still needed to be carried there, of course, because of his legs, but he could sit up and maneuver his torso enough to do his business by himself, which was the way he _much _preferred it to be done.

He tapped his finger absently on his comforter-covered and bandaged legs, hoping silently that he would continue to heal quickly so he could get back on his feet. It would be several months before he could do very much, he knew. He would have to painfully stretch his still-healing skin in addition to regaining all the strength he'd lost from being bedridden. It was going to be a long and tedious journey, but he would make it to the end. He brushed the bandages over his eyes. He wouldn't lie, he was really worried about the blindness. He was still determined to get along in life even with this new disability, but that didn't change the fact that it stripped him of many of things he loved. He wasn't going to get to see the world again. That had been his biggest dream, traveling around the world by airplane, stopping in all the exotic places, seeing the sights, meeting the people. That was a dashed dream now. He couldn't even fly a plane, much less _see_ the things he wanted to. He ran a hand through his still painfully short hair and sighed.

A loud crash made him jump, and he cursed as it pulled on the burnt skin of his back. He bit his lip, listening for more sounds. What the hell had that been? Was someone breaking in? A bomb? Were they caught? A flash of fire flickered in the corner of his mind, but he pushed it back. _This isn't the time to get lost in that hell again._

"Gilbert?"

No answer.

"Gilbert!" He yelled louder. What if someone _had_ broken in and hurt Gilbert? It could be anyone from thieves to other SS. He gripped the sheets, waiting for someone to burst into the room guns blazing or stab him to death. But no one ever came. He must've waited ten minutes. He heard absolutely nothing. A pin hitting the floor would've sounded like a drum beat in this silence. "Gilbert?" He tried one last time, but he got the same silent response.

What did he do? What _could_ he do? He was an invalid with severe burns on much of his body. He couldn't even walk. Then again, he hadn't tried. Ludwig refused to let him until his burns had healed more. He swallowed nervously. This was going to be painful. Sucking in a deep breath, he pulled the covers off his legs, exposing them to the cool air in the room. He wore nothing except a pair of underwear and an oversized button-up shirt. Easy access for cleaning his wounds. Not to mention pants would've aggravated the his legs with the constant rubbing. Slowly, he moved his legs, wincing at the dull stinging sensation. He pulled them over the side of the bed, lowering them slowly to the floor. He almost recoiled when his feet brushed the cold wooden panels. It was the first time he'd felt the ground with his own two feet since the crash.

And that was the easy part. He wasn't even sure his legs could hold his weight, much less balance him enough to get him _downstairs_. He gripped the sheets tightly, encouraging himself. "You can do this." He whispered out loud. He went for it, pushing himself to his feet. Immediately, he lost any sense of balance. Luckily, his nightstand was right besides them, and he used it to keep him standing. He let out a sigh of relief. It would have _really_ hurt if he had hit the floor. He tested his legs out, wincing as each bend of his knees and stretch of his muscles sent jolts of pain surging through the limbs. "Bear it. You can bear it. You've felt worse." A lot worse.

But then there was a problem. If he couldn't walk without something to lean on, he would have to maneuver around the room using the walls and furniture. Not a problem if he actually knew where everything was. But he didn't. He could potentially run into a thousand different objects and hurt himself. He shook the doubt out of his head. Gilbert could have been hurt. He might have needed help. Alfred didn't miss the irony of him wanting to help a Nazi. With one last breath, he started stumbling his way around the room, leaning on the wall, a second window, a wardrobe, the wall again, and finally, the doorframe. He paused, trying to recall which way the stairs were. He took a right, pretty convinced that was the direction that Ludwig and Gilbert always came from. He felt his way cautiously around, reaching out his foot and making sure the floor was still there before stepping down. If he fell down the stairs and managed not to break his neck, he doubted he would be getting back up.

Finally, he felt the first drop of the steps. This part was really going to hurt. He had to bend one knee and lower the other leg down, stretching his injured muscles. He whimpered at the sharp pains, but he forced himself to keep going. He went down five steps, ten, fifteen, praying they ended soon because he wasn't sure he could keep going much longer. When he felt the floor, he wanted to drop down and kiss it, but he knew if he did that, he probably wouldn't be able to get back up, so instead, he kept going. Instead of just blindly looking around in rooms, he leaned into to each one and felt around for something kitchen-like, which was where he assumed Gilbert was because that was where the man had been going, right? And if Alfred hadn't tripped over his unconscious (or dead…) body in the hallway, then that's where he must still be, right?

He leaned into one room and felt around, his bandaged hand coming into contact with something that felt suspiciously like a counter top. _Success!_ He managed the last few feet into the room and leaned himself against the counter, listening for the sounds of…well, anything. But he heard nothing. Nothing at all.

"Gilbert?" He murmured, confused. He hadn't felt any drafts, so he didn't think there was a window broken. But if it hadn't been a window, then what had it been? He breathed in deeply, his body already exhausted from a simple trip down a single flight of stairs. God, he had gotten weak. He moved forward a bit, one of his feet sliding across the tiled floor. He recoiled sharply as something painfully dug into his foot. "Ah!" He hissed in pain. He grimaced tightly as he brought his foot up, feeling his toes for the damage. His finger brushed what must have been blood and something hard that was lodged in his big toe. Clenching his teeth, he pulled it out quickly. "Mmphf!" He bit back a yelp of pain, feeling a trail of blood begin to rush down the contours of his feet.

"What the hell was that?" He carefully felt he object. Small, jagged, sharp, and hard. Glass. He'd stepped on a piece of glass. But there _wasn't_ a draft. He was sure of it. He couldn't feel the air from outside. So it _wasn't _from a window. Then where? He felt around the counter, hoping to find…there! He picked up the rag, folding it over and over until he had a square the size of his hand. He composed himself. This was going to hurt. A lot. He lowered himself to his knees, feeling his damaged eyes burn with tears as he desperately tried to hold back his screams. The muscles in his legs felt like they were being ripped apart. But somehow, he made it all the way down without falling. After he recovered from nearly a minute of intense shaking and gasping, he dared to reach forward slowly with one hand, feeing for the start of the glass he was sure littered the floor. He found it.

He took the rag and brushed the glass out of his path, crawling slowly forward, cringing each time his knees moved a few inches. He did this for several minutes, meticulous and slow, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. Then his hand bumped something soft. He froze. What was…? He brushed his fingers against it, fear shooting through his haggard body. Hair. A head. Someone's head. His fingers trailed across the man's head until they came into contact with something warm and wet. Blood.

He jumped, his hand unintentionally jerking to the left, hitting a wooden structure. "Ah!" He yelled as a dull throbbing pain worked its way through his hand. What the hell was that? He felt the wooden structure again, realizing it didn't belong there. It moved if he pushed it. He felt around it. Rectangular. And there was a gap in the front. No. A door. But it was open. No, it was _broken_. It was some kind of cabinet with a glass panel in the front. And it had fallen off the walls of this no doubt ancient farmhouse.

And hit Gilbert right in the head. "Fuck." He whispered, immediately going back to Gilbert's unconscious body. He pressed his fingers against the man's neck. He was still breathing and had a pulse, thankfully, but the wound on his temple was still oozing blood, and Alfred doubted he would be waking up anytime soon. What was he going to do? What if Gilbert was more than just knocked out? What if he needed medical attention? Alfred had no way to contact anyone. How long would it be before Ludwig came looking for him if Gilbert didn't return? Knowing the brothers' relationship, Ludwig probably wouldn't notice anything awry for several hours since Gilbert tended to go off on his own a lot.

"Fuck." He whispered again. This was bad. How badly was Gilbert bleeding? He felt the man's wound again. It was still bleeding considerably. He reached up blindly, groping for a drawer. He pulled out one and tucked his fingers over the side, praying there were more dishtowels in it. No luck. He felt for the next one. "Yes!" He grabbed as many as he could without having to stand up, sitting them on his knee so they wouldn't get glass on them. He paused. He needed some water to wash the excess blood off. How would he get to the sink? He didn't even know where it was. And since there was glass everywhere…

"Wait…" He rose slightly, ignoring the screaming in his knees, and felt around on the counter, finding the edge of the sink, and right next to it was…a glass of water. Alfred felt mildly guilty. Of course, he couldn't have anticipated that a _cabinet_ would fall of the wall and knock one of his caretakers out, but this had happened because Gilbert had gone to get him water. He snatched the glass of the counter and dabbed one of the cloths in it, wiping the blood off Gilbert's face. He _assumed_ he got most of it. It wasn't like he could _see_ it.

He moved himself slightly forward and picked up Gilbert's head, resting it on his lap. Then he took a dry cloth, folded it, and pressed against the man's wound, holding pressure there lightly. He hoped to God Ludwig would get suspicious and come by. If Gilbert's head injury was bad enough, he could…Alfred shook his head. _Stay calm. _He fidgeted more with every passing minute, hoping _something_ would happen. "Wake up, Gilbert. Please." He just wanted a sign the man would be all right. It would've helped if he could actually _see_ the man's fucking injury, but no! It would've helped if he could actually _get up_, pick Gilbert up, and take him somewhere for help, but no! No, Alfred was a weak, injured, blind invalid stuck in enemy territory. He cursed himself again and again. It was bad enough he was no longer able to help his country, but he couldn't even return the generous favors of his saviors.

So instead, he just sat there on the hard tile floor, cloth pressed again Gilbert's head, silent and still, waiting and waiting and waiting for the situation to change somehow. Because he had lost the ability to change it himself.

* * *

**Dro: **I'm somewhere between "Oh noes! Alfred, don't lose hope!" and "LOLs! A cabinet fell on Gilbert!"

**Next Chapter: **Alfred waits anxiously for Ludwig to arrive, fearing Gilbert might be deteriorating in his arms. Ludwig, on the other hand, wonders where his brother has run off to this time as he prepares to leave to take Alfred dinner.


	12. Of Seflessness & Awe

**Dro: **Sorry it's so late today. I have a crap ton of homework this week for some reason...Anyway, here you go! Enjoy! And please **review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred is forced to wait worriedly for Ludwig to arrive on the scene.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer: **Same old. Same old.

* * *

Alfred's back ached. His burned legs were stiff, dull pains shooting through his muscles whenever he twitched. The fingers on the bandaged hand that he was using to hold the dishtowel to Gilbert's bleeding head were shaking from being tensed so long. He could feel the sun begin to sink closer to the horizon. The warmth on his body shifted with the sun, and he shuddered, feeling oddly cold. Gilbert had not stirred. His breathing patterns hadn't changed, however, so Alfred assumed the man was at least not going to die. If his injury had been serious enough, he would probably in greater distress by now.

Or at least Alfred guessed. He couldn't really tell exactly how long he'd been sitting here. He wasn't used to determining the passage of time while he was stressed, scared, in immense pain, and in a completely different location than he'd become used to. He sighed again. It was silent in the house, the only sounds were those that intermittently scared him: creaks and groans caused naturally by the shifting pressure and temperature. Alfred had taken to humming to himself after a period of time, war songs and new tunes he remembered from home filtering through his mind.

He wondered how much longer it would be before Ludwig arrived. He must've been sitting here for at least four hours. Dinner couldn't be but so far away. He hoped. What would he do if this was the one day that Ludwig couldn't come? What if he had to sit here all night with a bloody, unconscious Gilbert in his lap? What if Gilbert started deteriorating, starting getting worse and worse until…? He shook the thoughts away. This was not the time to scare himself out of his wits. It was bad enough he felt like he was being watched. He kept getting chills, his brain screaming "Ghosts!" _Damn my stupid irrational fears!_

"Come on, Gilbert. Please wake up soon." There was no response from the motionless man. "Fuck." He wanted to hit something angrily. Unfortunately, he'd only hurt himself if he did that, so he figured that wasn't a good idea. He just wished he could do _something_. But he was stuck here. He couldn't force himself to walk again. His legs were too worn out, not to mentioned he'd cut his foot, which was still throbbing. And even if he could, what would he would he do then? He couldn't carry Gilbert. He couldn't call for help. His only option was waiting for either Gilbert to wake up or waiting for Ludwig to arrive.

Giving up, he lightened the pressure on Gilbert's wound. He dabbed the broken skin lightly with his pinky finger, finding the blood flow had stopped. He didn't know how bad the wound looked, obviously, but as long as it wasn't still bleeding, it couldn't be that bad, right? He tried to reassure himself. Ludwig _would_ come. He always did. He tapped his index finger impatiently on Gilbert's forehead, then he paused. He kind of wanted to know what Gilbert looked like. Granted, he wanted to know what Ludwig looked like too, but Ludwig wasn't knocked out and in his lap, so…

Biting his lip, slightly embarrassed, he ran his fingers gently over the contours of Gilbert's face and down his shoulders and chest, trying to build a mental image of the man. Gilbert was lithe, but strongly built. His chest was well-toned. His face had high cheekbones, his lips weren't slightly thin but not too thin. He had a small nose that, if the rest of him was anything to go by, was likely well-proportioned to the rest of his face. His ears felt average-sized. His hair…short. Not incredibly, though. He'd obviously let it grow out a few inches to the point where it no longer stuck up anywhere. It was smooth and trailed down in tiers until it met at the back of his neck. Of course, he couldn't tell colors from using this methods, but he supposed he could always ask at some point. As it was, he now had an image of Gilbert in his mind. His default for the man became a slim man of average height with a strong, compact body, fair hair and…hmm, what color eyes? None of the normal colors he could up with seemed perfect for Gilbert.

"Mm…" Gilbert groaned softly. Alfred quickly retracted his hands from the man's face, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks, followed by a wave of relief.

"Gilbert?"

The man shift his position in Alfred's lap, and Alfred bit back the pain as Gilbert rolled over a particularly painful burn on his thigh.

"Ah…Gilbert, are you awake?"

Gilbert's breath hitched. For several seconds, he was completely rigid. Then he was up, tearing himself away from Alfred.

"Gilbert?"

"K-kid?"

* * *

When Gilbert first felt consciousness returning to him, he groaned. He didn't want to wake up. He liked sleeping in. As it was, this morning must've been a miracle. Ludwig was usually far-too-strict about getting up at the "proper time" in the morning. Gilbert considered that foolish. There was no such thing! If only Ludwig would listen to him. But his brother was so obstinate when it came to accepting his logic. So he let himself drift back into bliss, happy to return to his slumber, when:

"Gilbert?"

At first, he cringed inwardly. It must've been Ludwig coming to wake up again. He rolled over, pretending to still be asleep. Maybe Ludwig would think he was sick and leave him alone? Not that that had ever worked in the past. _But, wait a second, that voice didn't _sound_ like Ludwig._

"Ah…Gilbert, are you awake?"

A surge of shock struck Gilbert's entire body, and he stiffened. That voice was definitely _not_ Ludwig's. And it was at this point that Gilbert recognized that his sleepiness had not, in fact, come from a normal night's sleep, but that it was resonating through his head from a very painful area on his temple. Wait, where the hell was he?

He leapt up, ready to punch out the guy who dared to…He stopped dead in his tracks, coming face to face with a very worried looking Alfred. He wavered in his crouch, dizziness threatening to send him toppling over. What the hell was going on here?

"Gilbert?" Alfred whispered nervously.

Gilbert suddenly noticed their surroundings. They were in the kitchen of the old farmhouse. The kitchen. Downstairs. "K-kid?" How the hell had he…? With a heightening sense of horror, Gilbert surveyed the scene around him. Beside the two of them was a broke cabinet, shattered glass littering the floor. Some of it had been swept out of the way. A shaky hand rose and touched the aching spot on his head, his fingers coming away with a slightly red tinge.

"V-vhat _happened_?"

"Ah…" Alfred seemed to be at a loss. "Um, I think the cabinet fell off the wall and hit you in the head. At least, I think it's a cabinet. I can't exactly _see_ it, but it feels like a—"

"Stop. I get it. I…holy shit, kid. How did you get down here?"

"Well, I heard a crash, and you didn't come back, so I thought you might've been hurt. So I…"

"You vhat?"

"I came here to check?"

"How?" He nearly screamed, exasperated. How could the kid have possibly gotten down here? He was bedridden. He hit a new level of guilt every second as his eyes took in more and more signs of the confirmation of his fear. One of Alfred's feet was sporting a bloodied cut. Alfred himself looked like he was about to pass out any second from exhaustion. His body was shaking with a severe lack of energy.

"I…well…I walked."

"You _valked?_ Down _stairs_?"

"Sorta."

"Sort of?"

"It was more like leaning and falling skillfully."

Gilbert couldn't believe his eyes or his ears. This severely injured _kid_ had risked his life to help Gilbert? "You…you could 'ave gotten hurt!"

"I...I know, but you were…"

Gilbert held his tongue for once. He couldn't yell at this kid. Not this kid who was scarred and blinded, dressed in nothing but a too large shirt. Not this kid who could have killed himself trying to walk down a set of steps to find Gilbert's clumsy ass.

"Are you all right?" He finally settled on saying.

"Me?"

"Ja, you! Your foot is bleeding. You look like you're about to faint."

"Ah, yeah. I'm feeling kind of tired."

"And your foot?"

"I stepped on a piece of glass…" He muttered.

Gilbert couldn't remember ever feeling this guilty in his entire life. "Let me take you back upstairs. You need to rest. I vill clean out your foot vound."

"Can you even stand? You were hit on the head. Aren't you dizzy?"

"I can bear it." Honestly, Gilbert wasn't sure of himself either. But he _would_ get that kid back in his bed, and he _would_ patch up the kid's injury. After what the kid had done for him…

"You don't have to if you don't feel up to it. I'm sure Ludwig will be here any second." Alfred smiled wearily.

What? Ludwig? But Ludwig wouldn't be hear until…Prussia glanced at the large grandfather clock in the old living room. He felt stunned. He'd been unconscious for _that_ long, and Alfred had sat there…His eyes lingered on the bloody, folded dishrag in one of Alfred's hand. Gilbert's hand brushed his head again.

"You…you are too selfless. You should care more about yourself, Alfred." He muttered.

The kid's face slowly turned red. "It's fine. Really. I'm perfectly fine. The cut isn't serious. I'm sure."

"Just let me take you back upstairs." Gilbert jumped to his feet, only to be overtaken by an insurmountable lightheadedness. He lost his balance and toppled to the floor, striking his head again the tile. He cried out, feeling his injury reopened.

"Gilbert?" Alfred asked, terror in his voice. "Are you okay?" Gilbert pushed himself back into a sitting position just in time to see Alfred crawling toward to him, and he cringed, knowing the boy's severely burned knees must have been _killing _him. But Alfred didn't seem deterred.

"I'm fine." He felt a stream of fresh blood run down his face. "Damn."

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked worriedly.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Alfred pursed his lips. The next thing Gilbert knew, the half-dressed boy was in his lap, cupping his cheek. "Don't lie to me," Alfred warned. The hand holding the rag deftly refolded it, revealing a fresh, clean path. Alfred stuck out a finger, lightly running it alongside the other side of Gilbert's face until it came into contact with the blood. "I knew it. You reopened the wound."

"I—"

"Shut up." Alfred wiped the blood away gently, pressing the cloth against the trail of blood and wiping it off until he made it to the actual wound. He pressed the cloth against it and held it there. "Right place?" he asked.

"Ja…" was the only thing Gilbert could manage to say. Who _was_ this boy? This boy who would go through the greatest of pain just to do such small favors for others? Gilbert couldn't imagine himself in this boy's place. He couldn't even fathom doing what this kid was doing now. How could Alfred be so selfless, so bold, so brave? He was pinning an SS officer to the floor by sitting in his _lap_. He was cupping Gilbert's face with a hand that showed far too much familiarity. He was daring to claim that _Gilbert_ was the one that needed help, daring to try and _take_ _care_ of Gilbert even while he himself was in a far worse condition.

Gilbert couldn't even think clearly by this point.

This boy…who _was_ he, really?

And how he could he possibly be such a…wonderful person? People this good just didn't exist, not in Gilbert's experience anyway. They weren't real. Truly selfless people were just fairytales. He'd known that all his life. And yet…here he was in one of those children's stories right now with those of mythical people right in front of him. There was only word for the Gilbert was feeling now.

Awe.

Pure awe.

"Alfred…" He murmured.

"Hmm?" The kid responded.

"You…" He trailed off as a hulking figure filled the background. "Uh oh."

"What? What is it?" Alfred asked innocently.

"Uh…"

Ludwig stared down at the two of them, horrified, shocked, and confused. "What…" He seemed to struggled to find words at first. And then: "What the hell is going on?"

"Ludwig?" Alfred asked incredulously. "Finally! I never thought you'd get here!" And then he remembered just where was he was sitting. "Oh." He smiled sheepishly, craning his neck to "look" back toward where he thought Ludwig was standing. "You probably want an explanation, huh?"

To Alfred, Ludwig made absolutely no response.

To Gilbert, he twitched. And twitching was bad. Because twitching meant Ludwig was liable to explode any second. And by explode, Gilbert meant punch _him_ in the face, as he'd learned from experience.

_Why is everyone targeting my amazing face? _He glowered at the broken cabinet. _Even inanimate objects are after me now! _He coughed, daring to raise his eyes toward Ludwig with a forced carefree grin on his face. Ludwig glared sharply back on him. _He's going to beat the shit out of me._ Gilbert sincerely hoped another cabinet would fall on him first.

* * *

**Dro: **I was going to the second half of the chapter from Ludwig's POV, but I really wanted to write Gilbert's reaction instead.

**Next Chapter: **Arthur finds himself sneaking into a town for supplies when he hears whispers of a captured American soldier.


	13. Of Restlessness & Disaster

**Dro: **Good afternoon! It's that time again! We're back to Matt and Arthur this chapter! So enjoy and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur sneaks into a supplies, only to hear rumors of a captured American soldier.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I did not win the lottery between this chapter and the last, so I still do not own APH.

* * *

Arthur really needed to brush up on his German. His accent wasn't too bad, but he couldn't, for the life of himself, remember all the words he desperately needed to survive around here. His broken German was hardly believable, and he'd gotten more than his fair share of suspicious glances in the last town he'd been in. As he walked down the unpaved road toward yet another small town, he wondered how much more trouble he was going to have. He was out of supplies again, unable to carry more than a few days' worth with him at a time. And he had no money either. That was a problem too.

When he saw the town starting to grow larger in the distance, he immediately became apprehensive and felt for the gun that was hidden in the waistband of his pants. It was fully loaded, but a handgun would only get him so far if he was ambushed by German soldiers, or God forbid, SS. When he neared the town, he strayed off the road, unwilling to put himself in the limelight. He'd made that mistake in the last town he'd been to. He'd be lucky if he didn't have people chasing him now.

He snuck through someone's backyard, catching sight of some fresh-baked bread sitting on a table. He glanced around, trying to ignore his groaning stomach. This was a really bad idea, but _God_, he was hungry. He crept up to the kitchen window, scrutinized every inch of the place, looking for signs of anyone, and, upon seeing no one, opened the unlocked side door and slipped inside. He silently dashed for the kitchen, grabbed the bread, and hauled his ass back out of the house before a full minute had even passed by. Sighing in relief, he started munching on the delicious bread as he intruded on another family's property.

A few hours later, he had sufficiently swept around the entire town, spying convenience stores he was sure he could steal from with no problem. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to snag a bag either. He didn't have enough hands to carry everything. It would slow him down, but at least he wouldn't have to stop as often. As night began to fall, he hid out in the forest just outside the town, waiting for the citizens to all retreat to their homes so he could rob them blind. He felt a hint of guilt for stealing from innocent civilians, but there _was_ a war going on, and they _were_ technically on the enemy side. At least he wasn't shooting or bombing anyone.

As the lights in town went out one by one, Arthur caught sight of a stagnant light down the road that led out of town and further into Germany. It looked like a small farmhouse with a barn nearby. _Now, why would a farmer be up at this time? _He shook his head. He didn't have time for needless suspicion. He had somewhere to be. He let his fingers brush across the letter in his pocket. Determined, he was off again, sneaking around houses and past public buildings until he finally reached the store he'd seen earlier that day. He didn't bother trying the front door. He'd seen the man lock it himself earlier when he'd gone home for dinner. So instead, he tried a window, and to his surprise, it popped open without a problem.

He was in and out in less than five minutes. He stole a bag he found laying behind the counter and filled it with food, filled an empty canteen he'd found in the back room with water, and climbed back out the window before anyone knew what had hit them. Or at least he hoped so.

He froze at the sound of a hearty laugh echoing down the street. Crouching low, he crawled to the edge of the convenience store and peeked around it. A few houses down, a group of men were situation on someone's front porch. They were chuckling and talking loudly, and Arthur wondered how they hadn't woken everyone on the street yet. He let his gaze rove over them all. They seemed like normal citizens, but he decided to eavesdrop just in case. Which wasn't a problem considering how loudly they were talking.

"_Did you hear those officers at the farm snagged themselves an American boy?" _One said.

"_American? What was an American doing all the way out here?"_ Another asked.

The first man shrugged. _"No idea. I just heard it earlier. It might just be a rumor, but I don't think so. I overheard a few of them down at the store earlier. Apparently, they _did_ capture a rogue soldier yesterday. I'm guessing it _must_ be the rumored American._"

The other men mumbled in agreement, and Arthur started feeling sick. Some kind of group, soldiers, SS, something…had captured a lone American soldier here yesterday? It _couldn't_ be Matthew, could it? Arthur felt himself break out in a cold sweat, his eyes immediately settling on the barn in the distance. It was such a slim chance. There must've been lots of lost soldiers everywhere, he rationalized. But what it if _was_ Matthew? What if…What if, oh God…What if he was being tortured right now?

Before he could stop himself, he was running, running as fast as his legs could carry him toward that damned farm in the distance. The moment he got within a hundred feet, he gasped, letting himself drop to the ground. SS. There were SS _everywhere_. They were like shadows in the night, but Arthur could still see them clearly. A few of them guarded the perimeter of the premises, marching back forth, bored and nonchalant. They obviously didn't expect any sort of attack. Of course they wouldn't. They were safe in the countryside, and unless the Allied armies marched right past them, the worst they would have to deal with was a few angry townspeople.

And Arthur.

Arthur, who was all by himself.

* * *

Matthew couldn't have told anyone what went wrong. Mostly because he didn't know. One minute he'd been walking into a convenience store. The next he'd been surrounded by SS officers. But partly, he couldn't tell anyone what had gone wrong because his throat was so hoarse, he couldn't even speak, which the SS bastards in front of him didn't seem to understand. Every time he "refused" to answer a question, he'd earn himself another smack or a burn or foot in the gut. At this point, he was a throbbing, bloody mess, and his medical training told him he had more than a few broken bones. There was a large gash on his upper thigh, and a matching one decorated his right shoulder. He'd lost a lot of blood by this point, and in addition to being unable to really talk in the first place, he was also too lightheaded to get his thoughts straight.

But they just didn't seem to care. The man in front of him spoke gruffly, asking Matthew yet another question in German that he didn't understand. He'd made it clear he knew no German early on, but that didn't seem to deter them. What aggravated him even more was that there was someone _in the room_ that spoke French, but he was just standing off to the side snickering every time Matthew received another blow. _Please just shoot me already!_ He wanted to scream. But he couldn't get any words out. The only lubricant for his raw throat was the blood leaking from several places in and around his mouth, but even that wasn't enough. God, he was _so tired._ He knew he wouldn't able to stay conscious much longer, and he feared what they would do to him once he passed out.

These officers had made it clear that they suspected him of attempted espionage, and they didn't seem like they would stop "asking" him for information anytime soon. Matthew just hoped one of them would snap soon and put a bullet in his head. He had nothing to tell them anyway, so it really didn't matter if he could talk or not. The moment they finally accepted he _wasn't_ a spy was the moment they'd kill him anyway, because he'd be useless to them. And if they were "merciful" enough to not kill him, they'd just ship him off to a POW camp. And Matthew would be trapped there until of the war.

Which meant he would've failed Alfred.

He blinked slowly, swallowing another stomach-churning mouthful of blood. The man in front of him growled angrily and backhanded him, yelling something that Matthew was sure was some sort of obscenity. In the only act of defiance Matthew could muster, he spat blood-tainted saliva in the man's face. The man recoiled, swearing loudly. Then his boot landed in Matthew's gut, and Matthew gasped, coughing up more blood than he could've possibly swallowed from his leaking lip and mouth. He was going to die here. He clenched his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable end.

The men argued amongst each other now. Matthew dared to peek at them. The officer who spoke French whispered to the man who had been interrogating him for the last several minutes. Finally, the angered interrogator relented, and the French-speaking man stepped forward. He eyed Matthew with disdain.

"_What is your name?"_

Matthew didn't bother even trying to speak.

"_I know you speak French, boy."_

Matthew could barely nod his head in agreement. The man's eyebrow went up. _"Can you not speak?"_

Matthew shook his head. The man immediately snapped his fingers, signaling to someone Matthew couldn't see. A canteen of what Matthew assumed—hoped—was water was passed to the man. The man unscrewed the cap and bent down to Matthew's level. If Matthew had had the strength to break the ropes that bound him to this damned chair, he would've broken this bastard's face in a second. Instead, he just whimpered softly as his battered arms started throbbing even more.

The man spoke sternly. _"If I give you this, you will my questions. Understand?"_

Matthew nodded dumbly. The lip of the canteen touched Matthew's lips, and he parted them slightly, letting the cold water rush down his scream-battered throat. It was soothing for the entire five seconds he was allowed to drink. He reluctantly parted with his only source of comfort for the last thirty hours.

"_Now, are you an American soldier?"_

There was no point in lying now. They already had his dog tags. _"Yes."_ His rasped.

"_What is your mission here?"_

He shook his head. _"No mission."_

The man narrowed his eyes. _"Don't lie to me, boy. Why were you sent here?"_

"_Wasn't sent. Not supposed to be here."_ He licked his bloody, cracked lips.

The man didn't look happy. _"Then why _are_ you here?"_

Matthew stayed silent on this point. He couldn't tell them about Al. That was his only taboo in this situation.

"_I asked you a question. Why have you snuck into Germany if not to spy?"_

"_That's none of your business." _He could've tried to lie and say he was a defector, but he figured that ruse wasn't going to work anymore, so why bother? They were going to kill him anyway, no matter what he said. He wasn't some soldier that had gotten captured in battle. Everyone on his side would think he was dead anyway. As soon as the men in front of him lost interest, they'd kill him without hesitation.

Another smack sent him reeling. _"We had a deal. You drink, and you tell the truth." _Matthew saw the man reaching for his gun. _"We could have sent you off to a POW camp, you know, if you had cooperated with us. But since you insist on being so stubborn, it seems you are not worth such courtesy." _The gun shone dully in the dim lighting of the barn. Matthew closed his eyes, relieved, as the cold gun pressed against his forehead. He tried to let his relief at the end of his torture overpower his fear of death, but it was a close battle. One moment he was happy he'd never have to deal with this anymore. The next he was _terrified_. And the next he was devastated because dying meant that he'd failed Alfred.

The gun fired.

Except it wasn't the gun against his head. His eyes snapped open just in time to see the man in front of him fall, the gun clattering to the floor. The other officers panicked, all of them pulling out their weapons, looking for the mystery assassin. Another shot went off, echoing through the barn, and another man barely had time to scream before the bullet in his chest killed him in under a second. The other men scrambled for cover, diving behind hay bales and wooden beams, but more shots went off and more went down, followed by a loud shout just outside the barn door and what looked like…fire?

The SS officers fled the building as the wood on the outside of the wall began to smoke. No one bothered to grab Matthew, and he started vainly struggling against his bonds. Not like this. Getting shot and killed instantly was one thing. Burning to death was another. He let out a shrill whimper as the fire peeked through the wooden panels. "Oh God…"

"Nope. No God. Just me." A voice whispered into his ear. Matthew froze. He knew that voice.

"A-Arthur?" He yelled as the man sank down to his knees and cut Matthew's bonds. The ropes fell to the floor, finally freeing Matthew's abused arms and legs. But instead of getting up, his body just slumped in the chair. He could barely move. "I…I can't…"

"I know. I've got you." Arthur finally appeared in his line of sight, a worried face with vivid green eyes hovering over him. "Just hold on. I'm sorry if I hurt you." Arthur hauled him into his arms, and it _did_ hurt, but Matthew kept his mouth shut, too tired to even scream anymore. Arthur hurried out the back door of the barn, running full speed toward the forest across the field. In the background, Matthew heard German shouts to what he assumed was "Stop!" and the sound of gunfire filling the air, but Arthur didn't even falter. He dashed into the woods at an incredible speed, maneuvering around trees and shrubbery better than Matthew could've even if he'd been at full strength. He couldn't imagine how Arthur was doing it holding another person. And he didn't get to imagine it either. Because at some point, his vision started failing him, and before he could stop himself, he lost consciousness.

* * *

**Dro: **Oh, poor Mattie...Oh well.

**Next Chapter:** After another week in bed, Ludwig finally relents and allows Alfred to start walking again.


	14. Of Revival & Recovery

**Dro: **-yawn- So sleepy. Stupid college. I can't for the end of this semester. I'm so ready to get this over with. I need a _break_. Soon. Anyway, enjoy this chapter. I like the end of it. A lot. And do **review** too, please?

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred starts rehabilitating his legs. And then finally manages to ask a long standing question (no, not _that_ one).

**Warnings: **None...?

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still poor.

* * *

A single step.

"You are doing great."

And another, followed by the dull aching in his knees and the sharp burns in his shins and thighs.

"I _knew_ you could do it."

And another, followed by the gentle coaxing of large hands not quite touching but still _there_, ghosting over his waist.

"Almost there. Just two more steps."

He couldn't see where those two steps would lead, but he trusted the voice and the hands that lingered behind him and took two more steps forward, raising his own hands as he did so. They brushed harmlessly against the wall, and Alfred felt an immense wave of relief wash over him. Across the room. He'd made it across the entire room without help.

It had started out as an argument. Ludwig had been angry. Well, angry wasn't exactly a strong enough word, but in lieu of reliving that awful two hours of German yelling outside his door, he would go with angry for now. Ludwig had been convinced that Gilbert was at fault, even though Alfred had tried his best to convince the man otherwise. But he'd been too exhausted to make a cohesive argument, and he'd ended falling asleep as soon as the brothers toned it down.

When he'd woken up the next morning, he'd found Ludwig at his side, still grumbling. Alfred had taken the opportunity to explain his side of the story, and while he could _feel_ Ludwig's disdain for his reckless actions, he could also feel the gratitude. Gilbert had ended up needed only minor treatment for his head injury, but Ludwig had thanked Alfred again and again for what he'd done (only after forcing Alfred to promise he'd never do something like that again). Gilbert had returned the next day with more thanks and more food, and he and Alfred had talked extensively about the incident. Somehow, Alfred had made a friend in Gilbert, and despite the ridiculousness of this incident, they were getting along better than ever now.

If, however, there was one thing Alfred had been concerned about, it was getting back on his feet. Ludwig had been adamantly against it at first, but he and Gilbert had worn away at the man until he'd relented just a few days ago. The first two days were excruciating, just as Alfred's adventure down the stairs had been. And they exhausted him beyond all reason. He would end up falling to sleep incredibly early and waking up incredibly late now. But the results were worth it. Every day he worked, his legs got stronger. For every pain, there was a reprieve. Yesterday, he had taken his first steps several feet by himself, no supports whatsoever. Today, he'd managed the entire room. He was still off balance. He was still weak. He was still easily winded. But he was making progress. And he would recover. And that was the only thing that mattered him.

"That was wonderful Alfred." Ludwig didn't expect him to be able to walk back, and Alfred was sure he couldn't have done it away. His legs were suffering from a constant, dull stinging today after two hours of working with them. He was ready for a rest. Ludwig let Alfred lean on him, and he helped Alfred back to his bed, where he immediately sprawled out. He was _so_ tired all the time now. "Are you all right?" Ludwig asked.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. Just tired. It's such a drain." He laughed dryly. "Walking."

Ludwig made an unintelligible sound, and then he pulled up a chair and sat down next to Alfred's bed. "It's to be expected. You were in a terrible sort of crash, Alfred. You are lucky to have survived. That was a miracle in itself. To walk away unharmed was an impossibility. But you will recover, in time. That, I am sure of. You will be strong again in the future. You are young yet, and you have a full life ahead of you. Just give it time."

Alfred nodded silently. He understood all of that. He really did. It was just frustrating being in this position. He was happy that he was up and walking again, but he still felt like a infant, walking on new legs, uncoordinated, unable to perform basic motor functions. He knew he _would_ get them back, eventually, but he had never really been one for patience, and the further he progressed, the faster he wanted to progress. It was a really aggravating experience overall.

"Would you like dinner now?"

Alfred smiled wearily. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

Ludwig shuffled out of the room quickly, and Alfred listened the sounds of him making dinner. The sun was sinking in the distance. Alfred could feel it. He was started to get his bearings more and more now. He didn't have supernatural skills or anything, but he was sure that, after a while, he would be able to work with his blindness. Not that he was okay with it by any standard. It still scared him to think he'd spend the rest of life in the dark, still hurt at the thought that he'd never see his twin's face again. He couldn't deny those things. He hadn't really talked to Ludwig much about them, and he figured he should probably keep his mouth shut. Ludwig had enough to deal with without having to confront Alfred's emotional issues too.

Before long, Ludwig was back upstairs and sitting in his usual spot, silently brooding while Alfred ate. At least, Alfred assumed the man was brooding. Ludwig seemed like the kind of man to brood a lot. He chuckled inwardly. The kind of man Ludwig was. He couldn't deny that he was still curious as to what Ludwig looked like. Alfred had an idea of what Gilbert looked like now, thought he didn't know any colors. But those he could ask about. It was the body shape, the height, the build, the facial structure, the really distinguishing little features that made everyone unique. Lots of people were blond or brunette or had brown or green eyes. But the subtle or sharp curves at certain angles of the face, the exact muscle tone and shoulder width, the curve of the waist, the shape of the nose…those were all things that were subtly different even in the most identical looking people. Those were the features that really made someone unique. And Alfred couldn't _see_ them anymore, but that didn't stop him from wanting to know what Ludwig really _looked like_.

He tried to get up the courage to ask for something so embarrassing several times, but he failed to get the words out, and he covered by munching on some crackers Ludwig had brought him. When he was finished with his meal, Ludwig moved it out of his way and asked him if he needed anything. _ Now's my chance. My last chance for the day._

"Uh…"

"Hmm?"

He swallowed nervously, shifting in his bed. "Um, this is going to sound really weird, but…I want to know what you look like."

Ludwig was silent for several seconds. Finally he said, "What is so weird about that? It is only fair I should tell you my general appearance. You could have asked me sooner, you know?"

"No, you don't understand. I don't want you to _tell_ me."

"Then…how…?" Ludwig seemed genuinely curious, and Alfred could feel his face burning. The only response he could up with was to raise his hands, hoping Ludwig would get the hint. "Ah…I see…"

"You don't have to. I know it's kind of weird…"

"Nein. It is understandable." Ludwig trudged back over to Alfred's bed, and Alfred heard the man kneel down next to him.

"You…you mean it?" He'd really thought Ludwig would be kind of freaked out. The man didn't seem like he was the type of person to let people invade his personal space without a good reason. Maybe he was underestimating the man. Maybe he was underestimating him _a lot_.

"Ja."

Alfred coughed anxiously. "Um, all right then." He raised his hands in the air, searching for Ludwig. He jumped when Ludwig grabbed his hands but relaxed as the man guided them to his face. Alfred's bandaged hands cupped Ludwig's face, and he bit his lip, moving them in tandem. He traced along the man's nose, his lips, his brow, his jaw, his ears, a mental picture slowly coming together in his mind. He ran a hand lightly over Ludwig's hair. It was short, cropped, and slicked back. He let his hands glide down the man's neck and across his shoulders. His _really broad_ shoulders. And then down his arms to the elbow. His _really buff_ arms.

"Whoa, Ludwig! You're like, _massive!"_ Alfred wondered if he'd been half-asleep when he was assessing Gilbert's appearance. Because the brothers didn't seem to look anything alike. "Do you and Gilbert resemble each other _at all_?"

Ludwig stiffened under his touch. "You have done this to Gilbert?"

_Shit._ "Um…" Well, gee, what was he supposed to say to that? He'd really blown that one. "Well, uh…"

"Never mind. Do not answer that."

"Right." He coughed again, his face on fire. He removed his hands. He had a pretty good image. Ludwig was a big guy, broad-shouldered, well-muscled, his face squared with sharp angles and framed with short hair. Though he was still curious. "Say, Ludwig." He started, trying to break the tension. "Are you and Gilbert blond?"

"Ja."

"Ha. I knew it." He smirked.

"Did you think that because we are German?"

"What? No! That's just...that's just how I pictured you naturally! I swear it has nothing to do you with you being German!" He panicked. He was not a jackass like that. He swore to God.

"Uh-huh." Ludwig didn't sound convinced. "Well, to answer what would doubtless be your final question: Yes, Alfred, I have blue eyes." Oh, well, he totally thought Alfred was an asshole now.

But Alfred had _totally_ been right about the blond thing.

"I'm sorry!" He squeaked.

Ludwig sighed. "Do not blame yourself for anything. I am not mad."

"You sound mad."

"Not at you."

"What did Gilbert do this time?"

"Why do you assume I am mad at my brother?"

"…Because you always are?"

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

There really wasn't much else to say after that.

Ludwig rose a few minutes later, asked Alfred again if he needed anything else, and then left for the night. Alfred wrung the sheets in his fingers. Well, at least he knew what they looked like now.

* * *

Gilbert showed up the next morning, food in tow. "Hey, kid! How are you this morning?"

"Fine." Alfred mumbled. He was still sore from yesterday, but at least he wasn't completely fatigued anymore.

"Sounds good. You hungry yet?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Starving."

"Vell, all right, then. I'll get started on your food. Brought a little extra for myself too, if you do not mind. No time to eat this morning."

"I don't mind. I like having company when I eat. It feels weird always eating in front of your two while you just sit there anyway."

Gilbert laughed. "That _is_ kind of veird, huh?" Alfred pictured the man shrugging. "Vell, be back in a few minutes."

He waited for Gilbert's return, pressing his forehead against the window. He wondered what it was like outside today. Sunny, he knew that. But nothing beyond. Maybe he could convince Gilbert to take him outside. He could sit up now without trouble, so maybe he could just enjoy some time outside today. He missed nature. The wind in his hair, the feel of grass against his feet. Things that reminded him so much of home wherever he was.

When Gilbert returned with sandwiches a few minutes later, Alfred got up the courage to ask him about it. Gilbert was silent for several moments, apparently weighing the pros and cons. "Hmm, Ludvig vill probably kill me, but if you really vant to…"

"Really?"

"Sure. After we eat, ja?"

Alfred smiled. He _really_ smiled. "Thank you. You just don't know, Gilbert, what it's like being stuck in one place like this. I feel like I'm boxed in all the time. It makes me feel so restless."

"I think I understand." He patted Alfred's shoulder gently. "And I say, just remember it vill get better, ja?"

"Yeah. I know it will." He paused. He really _did_ feel that way now. Two weeks ago, he would've thought himself crazy if he'd had a single notion of hope with himself in this situation. But now, now he actually felt that there was some kind of future out there for him. What kind, he didn't know, but he did know it was out there somewhere, waiting for him to reach for it.

A hour later, they were out in the front yard. Alfred was laid back in the grass. It was slightly scratchy against his sensitive skin, but he didn't care. The air was fresh and clean. The sun beamed directly down on him now instead of at an awkward angle through an old window. The wind blew across his skin, cooling him off every time he started to get hot. Gilbert was laying next to him. Alfred pictured the man with hands behind his head, one leg hanging off the other's knee. It seemed like a very "Gilbert" position.

"Hey, Gilbert."

"Hmm?"

"What color are your eyes? Same as Ludwig?"

"Eh? No. Actually, they are red."

"Uh…no, really."

"Ja, really."

"How are your eyes _red_, Gilbert?"

"I was born that way. I am..._special_, ja?"

"So, you mean it? Your eyes are _really_ red?"

"Ja. I am serious."

"Man…that sounds _awesome_."

"Awesome?"

"Yeah, you know, like…really amazing."

Gilbert seemed to consider it. "I have never heard that vord before. _Awesome_. I like it."

* * *

**Dro: **-sweep anachronisms under the rug- I claim no historical accuracy whatsoever!

**Next Chapter:** Matthew wakes up in a foreign place with a not-so-foreign person watching over him.


	15. Of Motivation & Continuance

**Dro: **Slightly short chapter, but this story tends to be that way. Anyway, it's reunion time! Read and **review!** You know the drill!

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew wakes up in an unfamiliar place with a familiar person watching over him.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Blah. Blah. Blah. Too poor to buy APH. Blah. Blah. Blah.

* * *

Matthew wrenched open his eyes violently, gasping. The bombs of his dreams immediately started to fade into the distance, the ringing in his ears lessening, the smell of burning skin giving way to the smell of fresh-cooked food, the overwhelming pain revealing itself to be nothing more than an illusion. He took in the room around him, noting its every feature. It wasn't a prison cell, and that was the important thing. But if he wasn't in prison—and instead, in this quaint little country house bedroom—then where the hell was he? He got the distinct feeling he was forgetting something important.

He made to sit up, only to have his entire body protest. He fell back down, sucking in a deep breath. His body felt like it had been a ragdoll used in a baseball game. Memories started to trickle back into his mind. He'd been brutally interrogated by the SS. In a barn, right? He'd gotten caught when he'd entered a certain town he couldn't remember the name of. And…what? He faintly remembered the feel of a gun pressed against his forehead. They were going to kill him, right? So, what had saved him?

And then he remembered.

"How are you feeling?"

Matthew stiffened, his eyes flicking over to the doorway, where a casually dressed Arthur stood waiting for him. Matthew's throat went dry, and he couldn't manage to find any words. "I…"

"Don't apologize. I understand why you did it. I just wish you had _told_ me first."

Matthew wished that too. Arthur had been lingering in the back of his mind throughout this entire ordeal. He'd felt an insane level of guilt every time he considered how Arthur would be feeling if the army declared him KIA. But he'd let his unending desire to save Alfred overtake any other feelings.

"I'm sorry…I'm so…"

Arthur shook his head, swallowing thickly. "Don't apologize to me, boy. Not when you're hurt like this. We can talk this over later, when you're feeling better. Are you hungry?"

Matthew shook his head. "Thirsty."

Arthur nodded and disappeared from the doorway, only to reappear a minute later with a glass of water. He sat himself down on Matthew's bed and held the glass while Matthew drank greedily. When he was done, he let himself go limp on the bed. His body felt completely drained. Everything was sore. Several places on his body were held still with splints. "How bad?" He dared to ask.

"Broken wrist. Sprained ankle. Several bruised ribs. Dislocated shoulder. A few broken fingers. You'll recover, but you'll be down for a period of time. I'm not sure how long though."

Matthew bit his lip. "Al…"

"Do you really think he's out there, somewhere?"

"Yes." Matthew replied with no hint of doubt in his voice.

"Very well then. I've procured us a vehicle. We'll leave in a few days."

Matthew looked at him, uncomprehending. "How…wait, where are we?"

"I managed to stumble upon some Allied sympathizers. They took us in. I told them why we were here, and they got us everything we need to get to our _final destination_." Matthew desperately wanted to ask how Arthur knew where he was going, but he decided that was a question best withheld for now. "With a vehicle, we should be able to get there within two weeks. We could make it shorter, but I don't want to try our luck. I think we should limit the amount of traveling we do in a day. I don't want to be tracked, and I don't want to rouse unnecessary suspicion."

Matthew nodded. "Okay." He could hardly believe Arthur was really here, but there the man was, sitting right next to him, behind German lines, in some random German civilian's house. "Arthur, how did you get here?"

Arthur snorted. "Went to your camp. They were raided. I decided to take my chances and take off in the confusion."

"You went AWOL just like that?"

"Don't be so humble, Matthew. I went AWOL for _you_."

"That doesn't make me feel pride. That just makes me feel guilty. You had such an amazing career in front of you. You can't just give it up—"

"I can, and I will. When it comes to you and Alfred, I would give up everything. My savings. My home. My life." He ran gentle hand through Matthew's hair. "No matter what comes as a result of this, you'll always be worth it to me."

Matthew felt himself tearing up. "Arthur…"

"What? Did you think I would say anything else? I care about you boys. More than anything. Remember that."

Matthew barely managed to hold in his tears. Arthur continued to run his hands through the young man's soft hair, soothing Matthew and lulling him back to sleep. He let his eyes slip shut again, and the world faded around him. Arthur sat and watched over him for the next hour, knowing the boy was out of danger know but feeling no more reassured than he'd been when he'd first dragged Matthew's unconscious body out of the woods miles away from the burning barn. Matthew had been struggling to breath then, and Arthur feared he was about to lose him. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to stumble upon a group of sympathizers, who had hidden him away and whisked him off to this place hours away from that dreadful town.

When the doctor had come and told him that Matthew would live, Arthur was sure he'd never felt so relieved in his life. He'd sat by Matthew's bedside through the night, hoping the boy would wake up, until the woman of the house had insisted he get some rest. He was still tired, and he needed more sleep, but he was afraid that he'd wake up in the morning to find this had all been a dream, and he was still in North Africa, fighting pointless battles on the hot, arid, hopeless front. Eventually, though, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, and he was forced to get up and slip into the next room, where a cot had been set up for him. He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.

* * *

When he woke up again the next morning, Arthur felt a lot more refreshed. He rolled out of bed and slipped his shirt back on, heading back to Matthew's room. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the bed was empty, but he calmed himself as soon as he heard Matthew's voice floating down the hallway. He walked slowly to the kitchen and peered around the corner. Matthew sat at the dining table eating breakfast, chatting in French with the woman of the house. He had bathed and gotten dressed in borrowed clothing that didn't do his body justice, but Arthur really couldn't be picky at this point. Matthew was _alive_, and that was more than most soldiers could say of their comrades in this war.

Matthew caught sight of him. "Arthur. How are you feeling?"

"That's what I should be asking you." He smiled. "Are you feeling better?"

Matthew nodded. "I'm really sore, but I'll live. When are we leaving?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Um, well, I wanted you to recover some first."

"We're driving though. I'm good to go for that." Matthew waved off his concern. Arthur scowled. Apparently, the brothers had more in common than he'd thought. Had Matthew always been this obstinate? He seemed a lot more like Alfred than Arthur remembered.

"Very well. Let's leave after lunch. We're going undercover as transporting supplies to a town farther north of here. If we time our trip right—and take all _necessary_ precautions—we should be _there_ in a reasonable amount of time.

Matthew smiled before taking another bite of egg. Arthur scoffed. These boys _always_ got their way. How could he really say no, though? They were his family now. His only family. He _needed_ them. So when there was even the slightest chance he would lose them, he would do all in his power to keep them. He couldn't deny them anything they really wanted. It would've been a lot easier if they weren't so _driven_, but at least Arthur could boast he had a family of people who got things done. He shook his head.

Two hours later, they were all packed up. The entire group of sympathizers had come to see them, along with parting gifts. They had plenty of clothing now, plenty of supplies. As long as they could be convincing to any soldiers they came across—because they had a believable alibi now, not to mention the papers to prove it—they would succeed in this venture of theirs. Arthur thanks the man and his wife, as well as the doctor and all the others, and then they were off. He hadn't driven a vehicle in a long time, but he remembered how well enough.

They started off down the road, dust flying behind them. The sun was still climbing higher in the sky. The clouds were white and fluffy. It was a beautiful day, and Arthur hoped that was a good sign. They really didn't need anymore setbacks. Arthur wasn't sure he could escape another close call again. His escape from the last one was pure and utter luck. He could have just as easily died. They both could have. And if there was anything Arthur had learned recently, it was that luck tended to run out at very inopportune times.

They'd been driving for two and a half hours when they came to the first town listed on the map. Arthur pulled to a stop just outside the town and dug around in the back of the car for the box of food he'd been given. He and Matthew ate lunch in silence. Arthur took the opportunity to look the boy over again. Matthew was obviously still in a lot of pain. His movements were jerky, and he would cringe every few minutes. Arthur really wished the boy had allowed himself to recover more before they'd started this journey. Matthew wouldn't be at full health for quite a while.

After lunch, they were off again. They met little traffic on the roads, but Arthur was no fool. He was prepared to come across a million German soldiers at any time and place. Granted, if that scenario ever actually panned out, no amount of preparation would be adequate, so it was kind of a moot point. But Arthur didn't want to take any chances. He'd been given a couple more guns, but if they came across to many enemies and were found out and attacked, a few handguns would only get them so far. They would have to be extremely careful to not get caught. If they were both captured, then they were done for. Arthur was there to help Matthew and vice versa, but who would help them if they were both in danger? The answer was, of course, no one. They were on their own now.

Matthew fell asleep a few hours later, as the sun had finally started to sink toward the horizon. Arthur let his mind roam without Matthew's idle conversation to keep him on task. He wondered what Alfred was doing right now. Was he watching this same sun? Was he bugging the hell out of whoever he was staying with? Of course, Arthur could only make guesses. For all he knew, Alfred was imprisoned somewhere. He might be paralyzed, barely alive, permanently scarred. The letter Matthew had received only said that he was alive, not what condition he was in, not how he was being treated. There were so many variables here, so many things that could go right or wrong at any point in time. For all Arthur knew, the entire letter was a lie.

But then, if Alfred _wasn't_ alive, then why send a mysterious letter to his brother? It had no clear motive. It only made sense if there was really some sympathizer or some other person who had decided to help Alfred. He _had_ to be alive. There was no other reason why someone would've smuggled a letter like that across enemy lines. At least, Arthur couldn't think of any more reasons. Maybe there was something he was missing.

He shook his head. This was such a confusing situation. And, of course, there was always what he and Matthew were going to do at the end of all this. If they lived, how would they be able to go back home? Well, truthfully, they could claim they both got captured, but how would they prove it? Both of them had just vanished during combat. It was a tricky situation to get out of. For now, he knew, he could only push it out of his head. He needed to focus on this sort of situation one step at a time. And the first step was getting safely to that town.

The second was finding Alfred.

* * *

**Dro: **D'aw, I love writing Canada and England together.

**Next Chapter: **After a another week, Alfred has progressed to being able to walk around the house. He spends time outside. He uses his other senses to make up for his blindness. He's gaining tons of new skills all the time. But does he have enough of them to convince a suspicious officer that he's no one of significance?


	16. Of Experience & Justification

**Dro: **So, in case anyone is behind, I started the sequel to **A Crack in the Looking Glass**, which means I'm back on the three day update rotation. So expect an update every three days instead of two. Okay? Now, onto the new chapter! The usual drill. **Read and review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Finally, able to walk again, Alfred decides to spend a little outside time all to himself. Unfortunately, he runs into a stranger.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still don't own.

* * *

Alfred took another stroll around his room. He knew he was risking tiring himself out, but he didn't particularly care at this point. He could _walk_, by himself, unattended. And that was all he wanted to do at the moment. He didn't care how much it wore him out. Every step he took was a reached goal, a win, a success. He had crashed down the ground in flames, hit rock bottom, and _survived_, and every time his feet touched the wood, it was a reminder that he had faced fate and _defeated_ it. So he would keep walking until he couldn't anymore. He knew Ludwig would chastise him for it, but he would risk it just to feel the exhilaration of _triumph_.

He heard the door open. He paused, listening for the tell tale steps of either Ludwig or Gilbert. After a few seconds, he definitely knew who it was. He grinned, creeping over toward the door. He'd been waiting for this for a long time, ever since Gilbert had scared him shitless a few days prior and laughed his ass off. He pressed himself up against the wall next to the door. He stifled a chuckle as he heard Gilbert ascend the stairs. He approached the door lazily and turned the knob, the old door creaking open. He stepped into the room, obviously confused to see no one there.

"Gilbert!" Alfred screamed.

Gilbert shrieked, falling into the door as he leapt to avoid Alfred's "attack." Alfred burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as the tremors pulled at the tight new skin that was steadily replacing his burns. Gilbert sucked in air rapidly, and Alfred imagined him wide-eyed and shaking.

"K-kid?"

Alfred howled with laughter at the fear in Gilbert's voice. "Oh my God, you sound terrified!"

"That…that is _not_ funny! Don't do that!"

Alfred kept chuckling. "That's called payback, Gilbert." He could _feel_ Gilbert's half-angered pout. "Don't lie, Gilbert. You know you deserved that."

He grumbled. "Fine. You got me."

"Damn straight I did."

Gilbert scoffed, but he didn't come back with anything else. "I brought you food. You want to it downstairs?"

Alfred hastily agreed. He had taken every available opportunity to travel around the house, up and down the stairs, outside in the tall grass, wherever the brothers would let him go. Ludwig was much more strict about than Gilbert was, so Alfred typically waited for Gilbert's arrival to be bold enough to ask to trek to new places. He wondered if Gilbert was willing to eat outside today. He asked.

Gilbert mumbled to himself. "Sure. It's nice outside."

"Yes!" He exclaimed. He found his own way to the stairs, though he could sense Gilbert _right_ behind him, arms extended in case he tripped and fell. Alfred had become much more adept at the stairs over the last few days, but there was always the chance his legs would give out on him. They were far from completely healed. And there was a couple places where _couldn't feel_, and if he was injured in those places, it was likely he wouldn't even notice. So Gilbert stuck close to him, unwilling to be careless on the off chance that Alfred actually started to fall.

Alfred made it down the stairs and into the kitchen with no problems. He found his way to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, listening to Gilbert as he placed the bag of food on the table and began pulling various items out. Alfred felt around for them. He touched something that felt suspiciously like, "Bread?"

"Ja. Sandwiches today. Perfect for outside, ja?"

"Yeah! It'll be a picnic! I _love_ picnics." He faltered. The last picnic he'd had had been with Mattie and Arthur just before the war had started. They'd driven out to a secluded area in the mountains and just sat there all day, chatting and munching. It had seemed so mundane at the time, but now, Alfred wished he could return to that moment, sitting with his family in a field of grass, carefree, relaxed, _safe_. He wondered how Mattie was faring now. Had he been hurt recently? He wondered how Mattie had reacted to Ludwig's letter? Was he terrified? Was he worried for Alfred's safety? Was it distracting him? He could only hope his brother was still well and able. It would likely be a while yet before Alfred saw him again. Ludwig had confirmed it was likely Alfred would be here until the end of the war. The odds of them being able to safely smuggle Alfred out of Germany and back to the Allied lines were low. It _could_ be done, sure, but neither brother really wanted to risk Alfred's life for something that wasn't necessary.

One way or another, they would get him home. It just might take a while. Alfred was _almost_ content with that. As long as he got home eventually, returned to his brother and Arthur, then he would be _okay_. But he was still an impatient person, and he really wanted to go home. It was an unending longing inside his chest that wouldn't be fulfilled until he stepped back through the door of his home, until he got to hug his Mattie again. As long as that outcome was a guarantee, however, Alfred would force himself to be still and bide his time.

"All right. Finished. Let's head outside then."

Alfred hopped out of the chair and felt for the counter, using it to lead himself back out of the room and toward the front door. It was warm and sunny outside, and Alfred followed the sound of Gilbert's footsteps until he found his feet tickled by soft grass. "Here?" He asked.

"Ja. Most beautiful spot in the whole area."

Alfred sighed happily. "It feels beautiful." He sat himself down in the grass and laid back, drinking in the sun's warmth. He curled his toes and chuckled. "I used to lay like this all the time back home. Lots of fields just like this. Me and Mattie…We used to sit like this for hours sometimes, just staring at the sky and picking out shapes in the clouds."

"That sounds…nice." Gilbert actually sounded surprised at the idea, and Alfred hummed in agreement. A few moments later, a sandwich was pressed into Alfred's hand, and he brought it to his mouth and took a bite. Delicious, like usual. He heard Gilbert fall back next to him, chuckling softly. Alfred could've sworn he heard "This _is_ nice."

* * *

Alfred grasped strands of grass with his toes, tugging them out of the ground as he walked around the house. He couldn't venture away from the house by himself, of course. If he strayed too far away, he wouldn't be able to find his way back. But it was nice just to take a stroll around outside by himself every now and then. As long as Ludwig and Gilbert didn't find out about it. They would be furious. More than once the two of them had warned him about going outside on the off chance that some one walked by or drove by the house.

Of course, he was far too stubborn to actually listen to them, and so far, it had paid off. He'd enjoyed several days of silence and thoughtful walks where he could actually _think_ in the open, free air. He hated being stuck in the house while trying to think. Even though he couldn't see the walls, he still _felt_ confined, and that tended to making him tense and irritable. That was on of the things he loved best about flying. From the cockpit, he was surrounded by nothing but blue sky and free air. He was boundless and limitless. He was unbeatable. At least, that was how he'd felt _then._ He really couldn't imagine himself ever feeling that way again. Truthfully, though he didn't want to admit it, he was unsure that—even in the miraculous event of getting his eyesight back—he would even be able to _get in_ a plane again.

Every time he thought of planes or flying too much, he would end up rounding back to the crash, which would make flames jump up in the darkness of his mind. His heart would race, and he would feel like he was suffocating. He could feel himself burning all over again. He knew the crash had traumatized him. He wasn't a fool. He knew he'd be having nightmares about it for years. But he just wished he could push it out of his mind long enough to concentrate on the things he loved best in life. It was an annoying itch that threatened to sting if he irritated too much, and he just couldn't rid himself of it.

He shook his head and leaned against the house's siding, feeling the old chipped paint on his back. _Think of something else, Al_. He started reciting German words in his head. Both brothers had figured it would be a useful skill for him to learn on the off chance a situation arose that required him to prove his "identity," that is, a fake identity. He couldn't exactly say too much in German, and his accent was off, but he could always pose as an immigrant, right? Right. Like anyone would buy that story.

"_You there!" _

He froze. Shit.

"_Don't move!"_

This couldn't be happening. All the warnings Gilbert and Ludwig had pounded into his head flashed through his mind. _Should've listened. Should've listened. God, I'm so stupid!_ He didn't move a muscle as the man drew closer, the sound of heavy footsteps on the gravel driveway approaching him quickly. The man slowed as he neared Alfred, and Alfred could imagine the stern German man scrutinizing him. Who was he? SS? Soldier? Random civilian?

"_State your name."_

Alfred frantically pulled a name out of his ass. _"Abel Daecher, sir." _He tried to make his accent sound as authentic as possible, but he knew it wouldn't hold if the man questioned him too much.

"_From?"_

"_Berlin." _Right, like that wasn't the most generic answer ever.

The man didn't say anything for several moments. _"Why are you out here? This house is not supposed to be occupied."_

"_I'm sorry. My brother stopped here with me and went for supplies. He told me to stay here while he was gone." _Alfred prayed he hadn't said anything wrong.

The man scoffed, but he seemed to at least partially buy Alfred's story. _"He would leave you here injured?"_

"_Well…I…I'm not of much use for shopping, sir."_

"_You were injured recently?"_

"_Air raid." _He replied softly. Well, it certainly wasn't a _lie_.

"_I see." _

Alfred felt the man step closer, and he immediately backed up. _"I'm sorry…but…who are you, sir?"_

"_No one who will harm an innocent young man. But I'm afraid during these times, we must check all _stories."

Alfred swallowed nervously. What was the man planning? He was frozen in place, praying to every God he'd ever heard of. The man walked up to him and tucked a finger under the bandages over his eyes, pulling them down until they fell around his neck. Alfred instinctively opened his eyes, but of course, the darkness didn't recede. The man didn't move for several seconds after that. Eventually, Alfred heard him step away.

"_My apologies. If you would like, I could escort you to town to find your brother."_

"_Um, no sir. My brother said he would be back in a couple of hours. I am fine here. I do not want to be an annoyance to anyone."_

"_Hmm. Very well." _Alfred heard him turn around and begin to march off. _"Make sure you stay out of trouble." _He ordered as he retreated.

As soon as Alfred couldn't hear him anymore, he collapsed against the house, breathing a sigh of relief. _I can't believe that worked. That was so close. And I seriously almost ran out of vocabulary. Thank God he left when he did. He would've caught me for sure if he had kept asking questions. _He banged his head softly against the side of the house, groaning.

_But then again…there's always the chance he'll come back._

* * *

"_Mr. Beilschmidt." _

Ludwig turned to face his associate, ignoring Gilbert's continued ranting. _"Yes?"_

"_I just wanted to pass this by you, sir." _He handed over a piece of paper with some information written on it. _"It's probably nothing, but you may want to check it out. There's a boy by the name Abel Daecher squatting out at that old farmhouse. Injured. Found him alone earlier while I was walking by. He seemed rather mundane, but I don't want to exclude the possibility of him being a suspicious person. I thought you may want to check his story out, sir." _Ludwig's hand was frozen mid-grasp. _"That's the story I got out of him."_

Ludwig finally managed to retract his hand. _"Thank you. I will have this sent out for confirmation. I commend you on your vigilance."_

The man saluted and headed back out of the office. Ludwig quickly shut the door behind him and stared at Gilbert, who was frozen his seat, his mouth hanging open.

Then he burst into a fit of laughter.

"_Abel, huh? Well, I have to give it him. He's pretty good."_

Ludwig frowned deeper. _"I'm going to kill him."_

Gilbert's raised an eyebrow and chuckled. _"I think that would kind of defeat the purpose of saving him, brother."_

Ludwig balled up the paper and threw it at Gilbert's face, storming out of the room as the older man howled with laughter again.

* * *

**Dro: **I _love_ writing Gilbert.

**Next Chapter: **Arthur and Matthew suffer complications.


	17. Of Denial & Incomprehension

**Dro: **I see relationships looming in the distance! Tell me how you think they're progressing! **Review!** I feel like 16 chapters is long enough to wait to have my pairings start to actually develop. How about you?

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur and Matthew suffer a setback.

**Warnings: **Violence, Homophobia

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH, people. It's just not going to happen. (Sadly.)

* * *

It didn't take a genius to figure out when you'd been sold out. No, that only took basic observational skills. Like noticing you were being shot at from a pursuing vehicle. Which Arthur had just over ten minutes ago. He'd swerved off the main road onto a unlit dirt back road and floored it, the pursuing military jeep quickly falling behind. Then he shaken Matthew awake and told the boy what was happening. Matthew was far too weak and tired to actually do much about it, but the least he could do was hold a gun, aim, and fire.

Matthew now clutched a handgun in front of him, intermittently glancing back to see if the pursuers were catching up. They were still pretty far from being in range, but they were catching up. "Arthur…" Matthew whispered. "What do we do?"

Arthur growled under his breath. "Fuckers." One of their helpers _must_ have sold them out. "Don't worry. I'll lose them."

"But they're going to be patrolling the roads, Arthur. We'll have to ditch the car."

Arthur cursed, knowing Matthew was right. He was _always_ right about these things. They would have to stow the vehicle somewhere and make the rest of the trip on foot to avoid being too conspicuous. _Damn. We'll never get there at this rate. _Not to the mention their supplies. They couldn't carry everything with them. They'd have to pick and choose. Fast. He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"I'm going to take a left at that next road. Get ready to grab everything you can. If I remember correctly, there's a river up ahead. I'll ditch the car into it. We'll flee into the woods. Got it?"

Matthew nodded solemnly. This was a risk plan, but if they were caught, they were dead. Arthur pulled a hard left, causing Matthew to jolt sideways. He hissed as his bruises slammed against the door, but he said nothing.

"I'm sorry." Arthur said quickly.

"It's all right. Just keep going."

Arthur drove the car deeper and deeper into the woods, further and further down the winding road. In the distance, he spotted a bridge. "There." He glanced back at the supplies and then to Matthew. "Grab everything you can. Now."

"Arthur?"

The bridge approached.

"You're going to…" Matthew gasped and whipped around, wrenching open a box containing two packs that he quickly stuffed everything he could get his hands on into.

"Are you going to be all right?" Arthur asked. He could try something else if Matthew—

"No. I'm fine. Do it. I've got the bags ready."

Arthur pushed the pedal to the floor, and the vehicle lurched forward, gaining its last bit of speed. "Ready?"

"Three." Matthew whispered.

Arthur tilted the wheel sideways, sending the vehicle veering on a straight path for the steep bank of the river. "Two." He put his hand on the door handle.

"One."

They thrust the doors open and bailed out of the vehicle, both of them landing roughly and rolling away. The truck careened over the bank and crashed into the water, sinking rapidly. Arthur pulled himself up from a patch of grass in the ditch he'd landed in. He frantically sought Matthew with his eyes, finding the boy's prone form on the other side of the road. His heart raced. He rushed over and dropped to his knees just as Matthew rolled over, groaning.

"Help me up. We have to hide." He murmured.

"I know." Arthur hoisted him up, relieving him of the packs, and helped him back across the road and into the woods just as the engine of the pursuing jeep came into hearing range. Arthur hid them in the shadows and watched as the group drove by, hitting the bridge and crossing it without hesitation. He breathed a sigh of relief. The truck was at the bottom of the river by now. He shifted Matthew to get a better grip on him and looked him over for injuries.

"Did you get hurt?" Matthew asked him, panting heavily.

Arthur scoffed. "Only you and Alfred would ask if _another_ person was hurt while being so badly injured yourself. I'm fine. A little bruised. But you're in much worse shape than I am. We could've tried something else if you did want to—"

"If we'd done something else, they probably would've caught us eventually. Ditching the truck was the smartest idea. And the most effective. The fact that I got a few new bruises doesn't matter over our _lives_, Arthur."

Arthur sighed. "I know, Matthew. I just worry about you." He released Matthew after he'd gently lowered the boy to the ground and unbuttoned the boy's shirt, searching his bandaged chest for any signs of bleeding or broken bones. He ran his fingers over the smooth skin, marred only by stark white gauze, pressing in slightly to feel for newly broken ribs.

"I-I'm fine, Arthur." Matthew stuttered out.

"I'm just checking." He flicked his eyes up to Matthew's face. His very _flushed_ face. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "When did you get so shy, Matthew? You weren't always this nervous about your body."

"N-no, that's not it. I…I'm fine. I can feel my own body, Arthur. Nothing's broken."

Arthur drew his lips into a thin frown. What had gotten into Matthew lately? Was he overly conscious of his body as a result of the war? Did he think his few new scars marred him? Arthur made a note to slip that into a later conversation. Alfred and Matthew were very good looking young men, and he hoped a few war scars didn't make them think too low of themselves. Especially considering they were both such wonderful men. Matthew was quite intelligent and driven. And Alfred…Alfred was incredibly smart in his own right. He was determined and fiery, and he could do anything he set his mind to.

That had been one of Arthur's biggest fear's from this war. That if the war didn't kill his boys, it would ruin them. He'd watched it happen to many a young man already. If it wasn't their bodies that were destroyed, it was their minds. Arthur had been terrified that he'd return to them at the end of the war to find them forever changed. Alcoholism. Suicide. Destitution. Apathy. Emotional destruction. War _ruined_ young men. Made them old and weary and broke them into a thousand pieces that could never be reassembled properly.

He hoped to God Matthew wasn't starting to slide over the edge like that. But could he really blame the boy if he did? No. Of course not. He could blame this war though. This stupid fucking war. He wasn't even sure who to be angry at. The Nazis for provoking it, or his own country and the other nations of the world for letting it get so far before they really fought back.

He snapped himself out of it to find that Matthew had buttoned up his shirt. He was attempting to stand up on his shaky legs. Arthur rose to help him, but the boy pushed him away. He stumbled back, hurt. "M-Matthew…"

Matthew's wide eyes met his own. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just…let me walk on my own, Arthur. I can do this."

Arthur's eyes trailed down to the boy's hand, and he realized Matthew was still tightly gripping the gun, his knuckles white with the pressure. Arthur softened his expression. "It's all right, lad." He reached down and picked up both packs. "Just let me carry the bags until you're feeling better, all right?"

Matthew looked hesitant, but he nodded after a few moments. "Fine. Let's get going."

And they went.

* * *

By nightfall, Arthur was reasonably convinced they'd lost anyone who'd been trailing them. They'd stuck close to the roads so that Arthur could follow their map, and he hadn't heard a single vehicle pass by. It was slightly suspicious, however, and Arthur wasn't beyond imagining a blockade waiting for them somewhere. It was unlikely they'd set something so massive up for just two random enemy soldiers, but it was still a possibility. So he kept vigilant, even when they stopped for the night and set up camp.

Camp wasn't much. Matthew had remembered to grab everything they'd need for a basic camp, but it was chilly tonight despite the warm day, and Arthur was afraid they were going to get caught in a vicious storm without a tent. Matthew was asleep only a few minutes after laying down, and Arthur watched the rise and fall of his chest. Matthew was pushing himself too hard. He scooted closer to the boy, reaching out to tuck his loose blond hairs behind ear. He ran his fingers through Matthew's hair in the most comforting way he could think of. Matthew needed his rest. Which meant Arthur wouldn't be getting any. He couldn't risk them being caught unaware. But he certainly couldn't make Matthew stay up (despite the fact that Matthew had most certainly told him to wake him up when it was his turn).

His fingers brushed Matthew's cheek, and Matthew murmured in his sleep. Arthur stiffened, afraid he'd woken the boy up. Matthew kept mumbling something incoherent until "…Arthur…" He whispered. Arthur felt his face begin to heat up. Was Matthew having a dream with him in it? He tried to concentrate on something else just in case Matthew kept talking. He hated prying in on people's dreams. Arthur considered dreams to be very personal things. He thought back to a particular few he'd had himself that he would _never_ repeat to anyone. The things his brain thought up sometimes…He shivered at the idea.

Matthew groaned softly. He would admit that he was curious though. Were they having an adventure? Perhaps he was dreaming they were still on the run? If he started sounding scared, Arthur _would_ wake him up. He didn't want Matthew to have to go through a nightmare. Especially about this mess. He returned to running his fingers through Matthew's hair. Matthew sighed happily at that, and Arthur smiled, glad he was able to comfort the boy.

He stayed like that for some time, just stroking Matthew's soft hair. Eventually, his eyelids began to grow heavy, and he blinked, trying to keep himself awake. But his body was worn as well, and he knew he was fighting a losing battle. _Shit. I can't sleep. I have to…_He started to sway. Somehow, he found himself laying next to Matthew. How had that happened? He realized he'd ended up falling asleep and had tipped over from his sitting position against a tree. He'd been woken up by _hitting the ground_. But his consciousness didn't last long. His eyelids drifted back downward, and then he knew no more.

* * *

Matthew woke up to an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. _Oh, great…of all times for this to happen, it's when I'm in the middle of the woods on the run from Nazis. _He sighed. _Of course._ He moved to roll away, willing the embarrassing arousal to fade away. But he froze, realizing he was _not alone._ There was some else _there_. Someone with an _arm around him_. He swallowed, feeling the other warm pressing against his back, hot breath on the back of his neck.

_You've got to be kidding me. That can only be one person._ Carefully, he lifted the arm that was wrapped around him and rolled away from the other person, only to come face to face with a sleeping Arthur. Arthur didn't seem to notice his movements. He slept on peacefully. Matthew's face was on fire. After the dream he'd had in the truck yesterday…now this? It was bad enough he was having mortifying dreams like that about another man, but now said man was laying next to him…like _that?_

_What is wrong with the world?_ His heart was racing. _There is something very wrong with me. This is Arthur! He's like…my older brother! _Why would even dream of Arthur like _that_ in the first place? Men did not have dreams like _that_ about other men. It just didn't happen. _Just calm yourself, Matthew. Pretend nothing is wrong. I'm sure this will sort itself out soon. This is just because you've been away at war, and you haven't had time to relax and find a nice girl and…_He shook his head. Like things hadn't been complicated enough before. Now he had to worry about this too? What did he even call this?

Arthur groaned and rolled over, and Matthew froze. Green eyes open slightly, immediately honing in on him. Matthew prayed his arousal had gone down enough to not be noticeable. Arthur didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, or if he did, then he didn't say anything.

"Matthew, how are you feeling this morning?" Arthur asked sleepily.

"Fine." He answered quickly.

Arthur furrowed his brows. "Are you sure? You seem nervous."

"Yes. I'm fine. Really. We should eat and get going, yeah?"

Arthur eyed him suspiciously but didn't call him out on it. "All right then. I'll open the beans."

* * *

**Dro: **Poor Matthew. I embarrass him and I have him stuck in denial. What next?

**Next Chapter: **Ludwig and Gilbert find out they're being temporarily relocated. To search for a pair of enemy soldiers sneaking around further south. ...Uh oh.


	18. Of Nostalgia & Frustration

**Dro: **Sorry about yesterday's update mess, guys. **In the Shadow of Wonderland**, Chapter 3, is now working. FF seems to be having a time with errors lately. Anyway, enjoy this chapter. I've been waiting for the last scene (specifically, the part with Gilbert) for a long time. It's one of my favorite in this story. -cough-And I would love art of it.-cough- Anyway, please read and **review**, like normal. That is all I ask.

**Chapter Summary:** Ludwig and Gilbert discover they're being temporarily relocated to search for a pair of rogue Allied soldiers.

**Warnings:** None.

**Disclaimer:** Dro is still a poor college student. Maybe if I complete a hostile takeover of Microsoft one day, I will have enough money to buy APH. Until then, I will not own it.

* * *

The order had come early in the morning. Ludwig had just gotten himself ready, slicked back his hair, and put on his hat when the messenger knocked on his door. He'd opened it to reveal a young, nervous looking officer holding a folded piece of paper. Of course, this hadn't been the first time he'd received orders to temporarily move to a different location. He got them all the time. This was, however, the first time he'd gotten one while Alfred was here. And, by a slip of his mind, he hadn't foreseen the complications that something like this would cause him.

He'd calmed himself momentarily as he read through the message, rationalizing that he could let Gilbert go to Alfred everyday until he returned. Then he'd realized the order was for the _both_ of them. They were being moved further south to join a search party for a pair of rogue Allied soldiers that had escaped from another group of SS officers earlier that week. The length of their stay would depend on how long it took to catch said soldiers. Which meant they could be gone anywhere from a day to a week or more. Which meant Alfred could quite possibly be in trouble.

Now, Ludwig and Gilbert stood in the office, stunned and numb and lost in identical stupors. For the first time in years, Gilbert was at a loss of what to say, and Ludwig's office was uncharacteristically quiet. They stared at each other, each starting and stopping before they actually got any words out. What were they supposed to do? They couldn't reject orders. They couldn't take Alfred with them. They could _possibly_ give Alfred a large quantity of food to eat so he could be set for a few days, but what if they ended up gone longer than that? What if he ran out of food and they were gone for too long?

Ludwig's stomach churned uncomfortably. He didn't want to think about the consequences of Alfred having no food or water. They obviously couldn't let that happen. But were they supposed to do? What _could_ they—?

"_Got it!" _

Ludwig nearly fell out of his chair. _"What? What do you have?"_ He yelled backed.

Gilbert looked positively devious. _"We catch them."_

Ludwig frowned. _"What?"_

"_The rogues. We catch them. In a day or two. You know, we just do our jobs. Find the rogues, catch them, and leave."_ Gilbert shrugged his shoulders like it was the most obvious plan in the world. And it was, which is exactly why Ludwig wanted to punch him in the face.

"_Well, _obviously_, we would want to catch them, Gilbert. The problem is actually accomplishing that. What if they manage to elude us for several days? For a week? For longer?"_

Gilbert seemed to consider this, but he dismissed it. _"No. We're too good to take that long. We'll catch them in three days tops."_

"_You sound so confident, but you know very well we could fail to meet that goal, brother. And if we do, it will put Alfred in danger."_

Gilbert rolled his eyes. _"Well, what else are we supposed to do? We don't really have much of a choice here, Ludwig. We either catch them quickly and get back here, or we fail."_

Ludwig groaned. He didn't want to admit that Gilbert had a point, but his brother was right. They'd been backed into a corner here. They _had_ to accept the mission. It was a direct order from their superiors. Which meant they would _have_ to catch these rogues. Quickly. Or Alfred…He rubbed his temples. _"Fine. We will leave Alfred as much food as we can get though."_

Gilbert shrugged. _"Of course."_ He dropped his feet from Ludwig's desk. _"It's time for Alfred's lunch. I'll go tell him the plan."_

Ludwig nodded, feeling a headache coming on. He watched Gilbert rise and head out of his office. He almost yelled at his brother to make sure Alfred was not seen outside again, but he held back. He figured he'd chewed Gilbert out enough for that one already. He hadn't wanted to yell at Alfred, despite his immense anger and irritation after he got the report of Alfred's presence at the house. By the time he'd gotten to the house to bring Alfred dinner, his rage had fizzled into the familiar worry he had every time he came to see the injured boy. He'd ended up lightly scolding the young man instead. It was Gilbert he'd yelled at. A lot. That was wrong, of course, but it _had_ been Gilbert that encouraged Alfred to go outside in the first place.

He sighed, removing his hat and placing it on his desk. This situation was just becoming more and more complicated. Now someone had seen Alfred and was suspicious. He and Gilbert were going to be leaving tomorrow…He wondered once again what had made him save Alfred that day. He'd been watching the air raid from a mile away, watching as his own army's planes had ambushed the Allied ones and shot them down. He'd watched Alfred's plane spiral out of control, smoke and flames consuming it. Then he seen Alfred inside as the plane drew closer and closer. Screaming. On fire.

Fire. He swallowed, flames licking at the edges of his vision. _Go away. Leave me alone._ His eyes trailed to the black and white picture on his desk once again. _Leave me alone, Roderich. Leave me alone._ But he wouldn't. He never would. Not as long as he lived. And that why he'd saved Alfred. Because he couldn't possibly bear to have another ghost chasing after him for the rest of his life. Another man he'd let burned that he could've saved.

He groaned. He wanted to say he regretted helping Alfred. It was wrong. It made him a traitor. But he couldn't. Because he didn't. He'd _wanted_ to save Alfred. And he wanted to nurse the boy back to health. He wanted to see Alfred live the rest of his life instead of die an early, senseless, undeserved death. This would all be the worth it in the end as long as that happened.

* * *

Gilbert whistled as he walked slowly toward Alfred's home, the device in his arms getting heavier with every step. He'd picked it up at a discounted price, figuring Alfred might like to have it. He hadn't listened to one himself in a long time. Maybe he'd stay for a little while and enjoy it. After all, he probably wouldn't see Alfred for at least a few days. He hoped the kid could make it on his own for a bit. Alfred was up and about now, but he was still blind, and that was still a detriment. He knew his way around the house, though, and that was what mattered most.

He pulled open the porch door with his foot and pushed his way inside the house, his hands full. He knew Alfred would already know he was here, but even with the kid's amazing sense of hearing, he wouldn't know that Gilbert had brought him a gift. He marched his way up the stairs and shuffled down the hallway, turning into Alfred's doorway. He hoped to God the kid didn't scare him today. He was quite liable to drop his present.

But Alfred was sitting on his bed, elbows resting against the windowsill. If it hadn't been for the bandages covering his eyes, Gilbert would have been sure he was staring at the sky. He coughed. Alfred perked up.

"What are you carrying, Gilbert? Your steps sound heavier today. At first I thought you were someone else."

Gilbert stood there, stunned. How could this kid be _that_ good? He hadn't blind _that_ long. "Well, I…" Oh, what the hell? "I brought you something."

"Oh? What?" Alfred turned around and swung his legs off the bed. Gilbert was happy to see that the poor kid's burns didn't seem to be hurting him too much anymore. Gilbert walked over to the nightstand and sat down his gift, pulling everything that went with it out of the bag that also contained the food. He slipped one out of its jacket and stuck it on, switching the device on without hesitation. Music suddenly filled the room. He didn't have anything recent, unfortunately. He hoped the classics would satisfy the kid.

"Eh? Is that a record player? You bought me a record player?" Despite his eyes being covered, excitement seemed to pour from Alfred's body.

"That's right. Bought it from a local. And some records for it too. All classical though. Hope you don't mind."

"No! That's…thanks! I can't believe you actually brought me a record player! It's...It's always just so quiet when you and Ludwig aren't here, so this will be great! Man, you have no idea how happy I am right now!"

Gilbert wanted to contradict him on that. He could plainly see how happy the kid was. "Glad you like it. Now, for food!" He grabbed the food bag and headed downstairs, leaving Alfred smiling as he bobbed back and forth to the music. Gilbert quickly fixed the kid's meal and took it back upstairs. The music seemed to liven up the entire house. The atmosphere seemed less tense. The rooms seemed brighter. He hummed along with the music at he walked back up the steps. He should've thought of this before.

He sat down next to Alfred on the bed and handed him his plate. Alfred dug in, eating huge mouthfuls of food. Gilbert had never ceased to be astounded at how Alfred seemed to vacuum in food. He could _really eat_. Gilbert could drink some beer, but he certainly couldn't eat like Alfred did. The music seemed to consume all their attention, and they ended up discussing favorite musicians. Gilbert had never heard of most of Alfred's favorites, and of course, Alfred thought Gilbert's favorites sounded incredibly weird.

Just as they were finishing up their food, Gilbert suddenly remembered that he was supposed to tell the kid something important. "Ah, oh. I forgot. Ludvig and I vill not be here for a few days. Ve 'ave been given orders to join a team further south for a mission. Ve vill leave you much food. Ve should be back in a few days, ja? Is that okay?"

Alfred licked his lips, which were now drawn into a slight frown. "What kind of mission?"

Gilbert hesitated. He didn't want to tell Alfred they were capturing some of his comrades, but he didn't want to lie either. "Capturing enemy soldiers."

"Oh…"

"I am sorry, but ve cannot say no to orders."

"No, I understood. We just have a really weird relationship, yeah? Thinking about you guys, who treat me so nicely, going after my allies, just makes me feel…odd. I'm not mad though. I totally get it. This _is_ a war after all."

Gilbert bit his lip. The kid was trying to mask it, but the poor guy wore his emotions on his sleeve, and he was obviously upset. But there wasn't anything that Gilbert could do but change the subject. Unfortunately, he was at a loss of what to say, so he blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. "Let's dance!"

"…Huh?"

Gilbert had no idea why he'd suggested that, but he decided to stick with it. "You know how to dance?"

"Um, sort of?"

"Vell, come on! Ve have music. Let's dance."

"Uh…okay…"

Gilbert stood and took Alfred's hand, leading him to the center of the room just as a song with a slow tempo came on. He held up one of Alfred's hands and let the other rest on his waist. "You know valtz?"

"Ah…a little…" Alfred's cheeks were flushed a light pink. Well, at least he didn't look upset anymore. He raised a shaky hand and placed it on Gilbert's shoulder. And then they were off. Gilbert kept it slow and steady, not wanting to risk hurting Alfred. After a few moments, Gilbert realized that Alfred had most certainly lied to him. He _knew_ how to waltz. Well. His feet moved perfectly in time with Gilbert's, and despite the fact that he couldn't see, his muscles remembered where to step and how far. He didn't miss a single beat. What surprised Gilbert the most was that Alfred had most certainly learned to _follow_ as opposed to lead. Then again, perhaps he had learned both parts. Whatever the case, he was most certainly being modest about his dancing abilities.

After a few moments, a faster song came on, and Gilbert was about to release to Alfred and let him rest. But Alfred held on and kept going. Gilbert realized that Alfred was laughing softly, a bright smile crossing his face. Gilbert smiled himself. Now _this_ was much better than the sad pout from a few minutes ago. He went along with Alfred's pace, daring to spin him. Alfred came back to him completely unharmed. Now they were both laughing out loud. They kept dancing until another song came on, at which point Alfred collapsed against Gilbert's chest, breathing deeply.

"Ah, I'm a little sore now."

"You all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. That was probably really good for me. I need to stretch my muscles more. We should do that more often." He grinned.

Gilbert snickered. "You got it. Most fun I've had in months." He looked down at Alfred and froze, suddenly realizing how close they were. He moved to release the boy and guide him back to his bed to lay down when a voice stopped him.

"What are you doing?" Ludwig stood in the doorway, several large bags of food in his arms. He was staring at Gilbert and Alfred with wide, angry eyes. Gilbert couldn't imagine how this looked. He had his arm tucked securely around Alfred's waist, and Alfred's arms hung over his shoulders, locked around his neck.

"Ah, Ludvig…ve vere dancing. Good exercise for Alfred, ja?"

Ludwig's expression didn't change, and Alfred tensed in Gilbert's hold before suddenly breaking away from him and darting toward Ludwig. Despite his complete and utter blindness, Alfred found Ludwig's hulking form without a problem. He grabbed the man and led him into the room, forcing Ludwig to drop the bags he was holding. When they were in the middle of the room, he pulled Ludwig's arm until his hand was resting on Alfred's waist, and held Ludwig's other hand in his own.

"You owe me a dance too! Hey, Gilbert, go back to that second song!"

Gilbert stood there, flabbergasted, before moving the needle on the record player back. The previous song started up, and Alfred forced Ludwig to start moving. Ludwig's face was bright red, but he eventually broke down and took the lead. Probably because he didn't want Alfred to hurt himself, Gilbert thought. He leaned back against the wall, watching in glee. Oh, how long he would use this against his brother. Truly, this was a moment of epic proportions.

He _really_ should have thought of this sooner.

* * *

**Dro: **I _love_ that scene. So much.

**Next Chapter: **Matthew and Arthur take refuge in the attic of a sympathizer, where Matthew tries his hardest to hide his developing feelings for Arthur. Arthur, on the other hands, keeps trying to get closer to Matthew, who he thinks is starting to push him away. Can you say "Awkward!"?


	19. Of Longing & Submission

**Dro:** This chapter turned out slightly different than I originally planned. Oh well...please read and **review**!

**Chapter Summary: **Stuck up in an uncomfortable attic, Matthew's restraint finally breaks. In more ways than one.

**Warnings: **Violence, Homophobia

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, I forgot to wish for owning Hetalia when I blew out my birthday candles. Darn.

* * *

Matthew was thoroughly convinced that God hated him. If it wasn't bad enough that he kept having completely inappropriate dreams about Arthur, the man kept trying to get closer and closer to him apparently under the belief that Matthew was drifting away him. Thus, whenever Matthew tried to get some air, Arthur would come with him. Whenever he slept, Arthur would be nearby. Whenever he ate, Arthur would be sitting right next to him. Whenever he got frustrated, Arthur would massage his shoulders. He just wouldn't leave Matthew alone, and it was really starting to grate on his nerves.

Every time Arthur touched him, it felt like Arthur was electric, felt like Arthur's fingers were shocking him. He would end up red in the face with a very uncomfortable feeling pooling in nether regions. So he was trying to best to get Arthur to stop touching him, but that move only seemed to make Arthur want to touch him more. It had been bad when they were on the march, traveling to this little town so they could stop for supplies. Now, it was much, much worse. They'd ended up nearly running straight into the SS, and they'd been forced to hide. Luckily, they'd run into another sympathizer, and though Arthur was now more wary about who he trusted, they'd had little choice but to take the woman's offer to hide in her attic.

Her attic. Where it was at least ninety degrees. And he was stuck in here with Arthur and no where to go. And it just got worse by the minute. Arthur insisted on sitting next to him, and it was so hot in the attack, that they were both stripped down to their undershirts and underwear. _Could this be anymore awkward?_ They were sitting near the window but not close to be visible out of it. It was the only source of air in the musty, dirty old attic, but it was so hot outside that it wasn't much of a help. Matthew was sure that if he didn't die of embarrassment first that the heat would ultimately kill him. Granted, they would only need to stay here until the SS moved. They had already searched most of the town, including this woman's house, before they had arrived, so they should have been in the clear by tomorrow morning.

He could only hope that was the case. He couldn't take this much longer. He was too close to Arthur. This was bound to end in disaster if he couldn't regain his distance from the man. He was already scared enough that Arthur would catch him having one of the dreams. Matthew knew he talked in his sleep occasionally, but that had never been a problem before now. He was absolutely terrified now that Arthur would discover his disturbing dreams the hard way, and he'd almost entertained the idea of just telling Arthur the truth before that happened. But he couldn't bring himself to. He was afraid of what Arthur would say. He cared about Arthur, and he couldn't bear the thought of the man rejecting him. He just wanted these stupid dreams and his weird reactions to Arthur to stop. What was _wrong_ with him? Even if he was frustrated _that_ way, he shouldn't have been reacting to Arthur like this, right? He groaned to himself, refusing to turn his head to look at Arthur. This was going to be a long, confusing, humiliating night.

And it was too.

They ended up—of course—side by side on makeshift bedding on the dirty attic floor, the heat causing the blankets to stick to his skin. After several minutes of uncomfortable tossing and turning, after which point Arthur was sound asleep, Matthew sat up and peeled off his undershirt, throwing it across the room. He couldn't have cared less if it got dirty. He turned over again, pausing as he realized how close Arthur had moved to him. The man's head was facing the ceiling, his eyes closed peacefully. His lips were slightly parted as his slow breaths moved in and out of his lungs. Matthew's eyes lingered on those lips, remembering the way they kissed him in each and every dream. He started to lean downward, then he stopped himself.

What had he been doing? He couldn't that. It was wrong. Wrong in more ways than he could even list. Men didn't kiss other men. That wasn't right. He knew what happened to men who broke that rule. He'd seen it happen right before his eyes before. But it was so tempting. Because who would know? Arthur was asleep. The woman who owned the house had told them she wouldn't be coming up until morning. So who would see if he broke that rule? He curled his toes, unsure of himself. His heart was beating heavily in his chest. His pulse was quick. His breaths were shallow.

_Just do it, Matt. Then you'll be able to see that your dreams are just wrong and foolish._ Right. He wouldn't actually like it. It would be disgusting and repulsive, and he would never want to do it again. Right. He turned back to Arthur. The man hadn't moved. Taking a deep breath and reassuring himself, he leaned over Arthur. He'd kissed a few girls before. What soldier hadn't? He would just plant a normal old kiss on Arthur's lips, and he would hate it, and that would be that. Maybe his dreams would even go away along with his curiosity! He certainly hoped so.

He position himself so he was directly above Arthur and brought his face closer. He looked Arthur over for any sign of wakefulness, and seeing none, he closed the gap between them. For the first second and a half, it was nothing more than a brush of lips. Then it became…something else. Matthew captured Arthur's bottom lip, tugging on it gently. Then he released it and deepened the kiss. A pleasant shock zipped through Matthew's veins, and he pressed himself closer. Arthur's mouth opened just that much more, and Matthew was lost in the sensation of their tongues just brushes together. All his restraint broke and he plunged his tongue into Arthur's mouth, running it across the man's gums, dominating Arthur's own unresponsive tongue.

Arthur groaned softly.

Matthew wrenched himself away in horror, nearly falling over. He slapped a hand over his mouth, vainly trying to hold back tears. He didn't bother trying to wipe them away as he failed. There were too many. He shoulders shook as he desperately tried to hold in his sobs, terrified that he would wake up Arthur up. _Oh God…that was…there _is_ something wrong with me_. That had been…exhilarating. Just the sheer taste of Arthur. _No! No! No! This can't be happening._ His breathing kept picking up, and he was on the verge of hyperventilating. Was he having a panic attack?

He scrambled up and messily pulled his pants back on, his feet stomping loudly on the wooden floor as he made a mad dash toward the door. The last thing he heard before he tore it open and half-fell half-ran down the stairs was a soft "Matthew?" from Arthur's now very awake self. He didn't even bother to stop. He was out of the house, across the yard, and down a trail in the woods before anyone could stop him. He only stopped when his lungs burned to the point of irrepressible pain. He collapsed against the rough bark of a tall tree, panting for air. His tears were flowing freely, and he let out a choke sob.

Then he was on his knees, crying hysterically. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't get back up. He just let himself go limp and lifeless. He couldn't handle this. He couldn't deal with his feelings any longer. But he couldn't deny it anymore either. He was…Oh God, he was in love with Arthur. He _wanted_ Arthur. Badly. All of those dreams. He _wanted_ Arthur to make love to him. He wanted Arthur to kiss him and pleasure him. _God, I'm so messed up._ This wasn't just some random soldier he was having cravings for from battlefield depravation either. This was _Arthur_, his impromptu guardian and cousin. He considered this man his family. He was sick. He was very, very sick.

A gun pressed against the side of his head.

An unintelligible German sentence emerged from whoever was standing behind him. The voice sent chills through his spine. And he didn't dare move. "Ah, I see. Do you understand me now?"

Fear. Unbridled. Uncontained. Pure. Fear. He said nothing. He didn't even move. He didn't dare. He was caught. He was going to die. _Please just shoot me and get it over with. I can't stand it. Not again. Not the torture. _He subconsciously curled in on himself, pulling his body into the fetal position.

The officer didn't seem fazed. "Look at me, boy."

Matthew didn't budge. Suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and whipped around roughly, aggravating his already battered body. He cried out as his back was slammed into the tree. Then all action stopped. Matthew had his eyes clenched shut, but after seconds of no movement whatsoever, he dared to open them. A sense of shocking recognition shot through his veins. He stared up at the wide red eyes that were looking back down at him.

Red eyes and stark white hair.

The man who had given him the letter.

The man looked just as shocked as he was. "Y-you…"

Something in Matthew snapped, and he lunged at the man. The man yelped as Matthew crashed into him. Matthew tried to wrestle the gun out of his hand.

"S-stop! You idiot! Stop! I am not going to hurt you!"

Matthew wanted to beat this man bloody. This man who had given him a mysterious letter that had led him to this degraded, ruined state. He fucking _hated_ this man. Unfortunately, the man was stronger than him. He switched their positions, forcing him onto the ground. He writhed wildly, trying to out of the man's hold, but he was too strong.

"Kid. Stop! Please!"

Matthew stopped struggling. It was pointless. He couldn't get away. The man was going to turn in him or shoot him here. Either way, he was going to die. So he gave up. He was hurt and confused and tired and emotionally drained, and he just wanted it to _end_ already. But it seemed the man had other plans.

He sounded like he was swearing to himself in German. Then he switched back to English. "Vhat are you _doing_ here?"

"Alfred…" emerged from Matthew's lips automatically.

The man's red eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. "Fool. Ve intended to return _him_ to _you_, not 'ave you come here and risk your life pointlessly."

"You…_you_ have Alfred?" Matthew went rigid under the man's grip.

The man rolled his eyes. "Ja. And he is perfectly safe. You, however, are not. If I had not been the one to find you, you vould be dead right now."

Matthew swallowed nervously. "I…"

"Do not say _anything_. And I mean it. I 'ave no idea how I am going to get you out of this. You are lucky ve 'ave a private place to stay. Come vith me." The man roughly pulled him off the ground, and Matthew cried out again. The man paused, looking him over, and seemed to realize for the first time that he was injured. "Oh. Sorry. Come on." The man led him by the shoulder, pulling him along.

Matthew couldn't comprehend the idea of this man helping him, so he was sure this was all some kind ruse. This _had_ been the man that had given the letter, but how could he possibly trust this guy? He was SS after all. He let the man lead him for several minutes before he decided to try to make a run for it. He broke from the man's grasp and took off, tearing through the woods. The man immediately followed him, shouting for him to stop.

He tried his best to outrun the man, but he failed miserably. He was too hurt and too tired. The man caught up to him less than a minute later, grabbing his arm and jarring him into a rough stop. Matthew struggled and screamed to be let go. He whipped around and aimed a punch at the man's face. A punch that was prematurely cut off.

As a bullet tore through his abdomen.

Both men stood motionless for several seconds, Matthew's mouth hanging open in a shocked gape, the man's red eyes wide with disbelief. Matthew felt a rush of warm blood run from his stomach and spread down his leg, and then he lost his balance as the pain assaulted him. The man caught him before he hit the ground, and a low groan of pain escaped from between his lips. He was too shocked to make any other sounds.

Footsteps rushed towards them. The officer who had shot him, as Matthew saw from his fading periphery, had a head of shot, light blond hair. His blue eyes were wide with horror.

"Ludvig…"

"I…who…who is that?" The blond man—Ludwig—spoke breathlessly. Matthew could hear the fear in his voice.

"Vho do you think? It's Alfred's _bruder!_" The red-eyed man shifted Matthew around and heaved him into his arms. "He's bleeding bad. Ve need to get the bullet out."

Ludwig seemed to be at a loss. "I…I did not know…"

"I am not blaming you, _bruder_. Just come on before he bleeds to death."

Alfred. They knew he was Alfred's brother? They _knew_ Alfred? Who were these people? Matthew found the forest blurring around him as the pain and blood loss dulled his senses. The two SS officers were running toward what Matthew could only assume was some sort of base. He wondered how badly they would torture him this time. It occurred to his muddled brain that perhaps these men would actually try to help him, but it seemed too absurd. That was a hope, and he had learned by now that it was foolish to hope about hopeless things. Like Al.

What had he been thinking coming here to save Al? For all he knew, these men had him chained him up somewhere, slowly being tortured to death. The letter just could've been a ploy of some kind. God, he was so stupid. He felt the tears begin to run again, and the his eyes met the worried pair of the red-eyed man.

"Kid, it vill be okay. Calm down. Ve're going to help you."

Matthew _wanted_ to believe that. He really did…but his consciousness was starting to wane, and he could _feel_ death approaching. He wasn't sure how he knew what that felt like, but somehow, he knew he was right. Bright light flooded his vision, and he blinked drearily. They were in a house now, and Ludwig cleared a dining table.

"Set him down." He said the rest in German that Matthew didn't understand. The red-eyed man laid him on the table. Matthew wanted to say it was helpful that he didn't have a shirt on. But then he caught a glimpse of his stomach and pants, drenched in blood that was steadily pouring from a round wound in his side. It had entered him just above his hipbone, and Matthew could _feel_ the foreign object grating against that bone, resting where it stopped after ricocheting through his body and tearing him apart. He was going to die. This was it.

The red-eyed man appeared over him. "Kid, bite down on this, okay?" Something—a tightly-wrapped cloth—was fitted in between his teeth. He vaguely registered why. They were going to dig the bullet out, and it was going to hurt. A lot. He bit down on it as hard as he could, and when he saw Ludwig approach him with a pair of forceps, he clenched his shut. The red-eyed man pulled his jeans down over his hip to get better and access, and had Matthew not been terrified, he would've been humiliated. The red-eyed man peered back up at him. "Kid, hold on to something, okay. I've got your legs. Just grab onto the table, okay?" He was trying to sound soothing, but the impending pain had taken over Matthew's mind.

The moment the forceps touched the wound, he whined. Ludwig paused. "It's going to be okay, Matthew." Somehow, the mention of his name calmed him down slightly. For all of five seconds. Then Ludwig had plunged the forceps into his wound, and Matthew felt like he was on fire. He screamed, his voice muffled by the gag. He writhed and convulsed, his fingernails digging into the wood of the table. The red-eyed man held his legs firmly, and moments later, Ludwig quickly retracted the forceps, which held a bullet. Matthew dropped limply to the table, suddenly finding himself with no shred of energy left. The red-eyed man let go of his legs, and then he was next to Matthew's head.

"Matthew? Can you hear me?"

Matthew groaned slightly, his vision going dark.

"Ludvig, patch that thing up fast. Ve're starting to lose him." He whispered some low German.

"Working on it, Gilbert. Patience."

"The kid's bleeding to death!"

"A lot. Not to death. The bullet didn't hit anything vital. He's going to be fine."

Matthew listened to their conversation for several more seconds, finely attuned to their voices even after they switched completely over to German. He knew nothing but those two men's—Ludwig and Gilbert's—voices. And then he knew nothing at all.

* * *

**Dro: **Well, I certainly just changed the game, huh?

**Next Chapter: **Alfred, doing fine by himself for two days, is rudely interrupted. By the same suspicious officer from before. And his backup.


	20. Of Anticipation & Panic

**Dro:** Back to Alfred's side of the story today! Enjoy! And do read and **review,** please!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred, bored for two days after Ludwig and Gilbert's departure, finds himself confronted with the suspicious officer again. And his backup.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro is still a little college student, and thus, is too poor to buy the rights to APH.

* * *

It had been a boring and lonely two days. Alfred had eaten his food silently, walked around the house silently, sat by the window silently, dared to leave the house for just a few minutes of fresh air…silently, of course. If there was one thing he hated, it was not having anyone to talk to. He hated being alone, especially when he was hurt. He wouldn't deny that he liked attention, and for the last few weeks, he'd had plenty of it. But now both brothers were gone for who knew how long, and he was left to alone to fend for himself until then. He was sure that if nothing else happened, he would die of boredom anyway.

Ludwig and Gilbert had been forced to leave in a rush. Apparently, they'd been running late and gotten chewed out for it, and they'd been sent to comb through the area that the previous team had already looked through in case the fugitives had arrived later. Which kind of had Alfred worried. If it was just the two of them searching alone for two rogue soldiers, then they were at a disadvantage. He was afraid they would get hurt. He hated to think the added risk had been his fault. They'd insisted on checking on him before they left, coming up with some kind of excuse for the delay, but they'd gotten in trouble for it. He sighed. He didn't want to them to get hurt because he was always on their minds.

He rose from his bed, found his clothes, got dressed, and walked down to the kitchen. He felt for the third cabinet, opened it, and pulled out the bag of bread that Ludwig had brought him. Then he opened the fourth cabinet and pulled out a jar of jam. He wasn't sure what flavor it was, as there were three, and he obviously couldn't read the labels, but he didn't really care. He liked most flavors. Carefully, he pulled open a drawer and located a knife, his finger sliding gently over the blade so as to not slice his finger open. Once he'd managed to fix himself some basic bread and jam—God knows how it actually looked—he sat down at the kitchen table and ate silently.

Silently.

Again.

"Ah!" He exclaimed. "This is so boring." There was no real point in talking out loud, but he just wanted some_ sound_. The house was far too quiet. He supposed it didn't help that they were so far away from any population centers. But since he couldn't feasibly stay anywhere in town, he figured he would have to endure it. Ludwig and Gilbert had promised they'd return as soon as possible, and all he could do was hold them to that. After he'd finished his breakfast, he walked back upstairs and sat back down, feeling for the record player. He still hadn't gone through all the music. He supposed that would liven up the house. He'd listened to it a few times since the two men had left, but sometimes it made the house feel even emptier. Just music echoing through musty, uninhabited rooms and hallways.

But he was too fed up with the quiet today, so he felt his way through the records and pulled one out, hoping he'd kept them in the right order so he could tell which ones he had and hadn't listened to already. It took him three tries to get it into the player in the right position and get it going, but once he did, he immediately felt relieved. The sound of Bach filled the house, and he tapped his fingers along to the beat, happy that at least he had something remotely enjoyable to do while the brothers were away.

That was, until he heart _it_.

As soon as the sound reached his ears, he whipped around and turned the record player off. He froze for a few seconds, stuck between relief and hoping to God he'd been wrong. But he hadn't been. There was a vehicle approaching the house. _It could be Ludwig and Gilbert_. But they'd never come in a vehicle before. They always walked here because it was too suspicious to come any other way. Which meant…it was someone else. He rose quickly from the bed, feeling around for the spare bags he'd found many days ago as he searched his way slowly around the house for anything useful. He found them under the bed and pulled one out, quickly crossing the room, heaving open the doors to the wardrobe, and tossing several shirts and pairs of pants in.

Then he was down the stairs and in the kitchen, stuffing the entire bag of bread and several cans of food into his travel bag as well. The vehicle pulled up near the house and stopped, the sound of the engine abruptly cutting off. Alfred moved as quickly as he could toward the back door of the house, opening it as quietly as he could and closing it behind him just someone knocked loudly on the front door. Voices rang clearly in his ears. One of them he recognized.

The man who had confronted him before.

He was here with backup.

Ludwig said he had taken care of it, so why was he here? No…no…Ludwig had said he would falsify a report that the mysterious "Abel" was long gone, and that he and Gilbert had done a full investigation…but he hadn't had time, had he? He'd been called away. Alfred swallowed nervously, padding through the grass in the straightest line he could manage. He knew by Gilbert's description that there woods on this side of the house. He just needed to get to them and hide. If they caught him, he was done for.

He almost tripped when he ran into the first tree at the edge of the woods. But with that marker, he was able to use the tree themselves to navigate his way through. He pulled a pocket knife out of his bag. Gilbert had given it to him last week. "Just in case." Well, that had certainly been some good foresight. He put a small triangle mark on every tree he passed by. It probably wouldn't help him find his way back, but if Ludwig and Gilbert came back to find him gone, this was the first place they would check. This was the escape route they had told him to take in the event that anything happened.

So they would surely find him again, right? Because there was no way Alfred could find his own way back. Once he got too far into the woods, where the sunlight was filtered and broken and split, he wouldn't be able to tell right from left or forward from backward. He would be lost soon, he knew. The very idea of purposefully getting himself lost in the woods terrified him, but he really had no other choice.

Leaves crunched behind him.

He froze.

"_Guten morgen, _Abel_._" It was _him_.

Alfred didn't dare move. He struggle to find a method of escape. Was the officer here alone? Had they all split up to search the woods? Either way, he was caught. _Shit...shit…I can't let this happen. Not now. Not after I've come so far._ A gun was pressed to the back of his head. He swallowed nervously. The officer was silently for several moments.

"_Are you _really_ blind, or was that just a lie too?"_ He spoke in low, brusque German.

Alfred didn't respond.

"_Answer me boy, and give me your name while you're at it. Your _real_ name_."

Alfred sucked in a breath. Then he whipped around and slammed his bag into the man's hand, sending his gun flying. He kicked out as hard as he could, striking the man in the stomach. He heard the man gasp as he toppled over. Alfred ran. He tried his best to feel the trees before he got to them, but he tripped several times, every scratch and bruise aggravating his still healing burns. If he somehow got out of this alive, he would probably die of infection. But he would rather die of that than be tortured to death any day.

So he kept running and tripping and falling and getting back up, passing by tree after tree, thorn vine after thorn vine, until…until there were no more left. He fell over as his hand hit air instead of a hard tree trunks. Rolling over and standing up, he realized he was standing in thick grass. Where was he? His heart raced from exhaustion and fear. Where the hell was he? He had no clue, none at all. _Fuck my blindness. Fuck it all_. He had to keep going. He knew the SS officers couldn't be but so far behind. So he walked—quickly walked—trying to catch his breath before he started running again. He walked on through the thick grass for a few minutes, feeling more and more hopeless every second—because he was sure he was in some sprawling, endless field.

And then he hit it.

Well, his feet his it.

Dirt.

Compacted dirt. In a straight line.

A road.

* * *

He'd been walking for at least two hours. The sun was directly overhead now and beaming down at him, and he felt like he was burning up. He probably was. If he stayed out in this too long, he was bound to get sunburn, which would make his own burns worse. Thankfully, most of them were covered by either clothing or bandages. But there were a few he could already feel getting worse and worse. And if he got too hot, with the sheer amount of injuries he had, he would probably pass out from the heat. There was no way he could endure this for very much longer.

Unfortunately, he had to. If he wanted to get away from the SS. No one had followed him down the road, but that didn't mean they wouldn't be catching up soon. Surely, there were only so many places he could've gone to get away, and they would likely check them all. He licked his dry lips. He was really thirsty. Why hadn't he thought to bring _water_? He'd grabbed a ton of food but nothing to drink. He could checked to see if he'd pulled out cans with some juice in them, but he would risk having to open them all to find one, and he _needed_ the food too.

So he kept walking, praying he would come to some kind of water source soon. But then, how would he know if he did? He could've passed ten lakes and twenty ponds and never known it because he couldn't see them. He sighed, frustrated, and kept on walking. What other choice did he have? But after another thirty minutes, his legs had grown heavy and his had grown light, and he felt immensely dizzy. He was going to pass out soon, he knew, from thirst and heat. He stumbled along another few feet before his legs gave out from under him. He was so tired he couldn't even be bothered to cry out at the rough ground striking his injured knees.

The next thing he knew, he was face down on the ground, breathing in shallow breaths. He was sure this was it now. He couldn't possibly survive this. He's already lived through a violent plane crash and the subsequent injures. But his luck had finally run out it seemed. He wasn't going to get out of this one. He cursed silently, feeling his consciousness being to fade. He whispered a hoarse-voiced apology to Gilbert and Ludwig, who he knew would be devastated to come back and find him gone. By the time anyone found him on this deserted road, he probably would've already been picked apart by the vultures.

Or so he thought until he heard a vehicle approaching in the distance. He was disoriented that he couldn't tell what direction it was coming, and he was sure it was the SS officers coming to round him up. He hoped to God he died first. That really would be a blessing. He would much go this way than at their hands. That wasn't even a competition. His consciousness waned further, and he felt as if he was falling further and further into the darkness that consumed his life since the moment of the crash.

The sound of someone getting out of a vehicle and running toward him filled his ears. Rough German was spoken into his ears, but he was too weak to do anything about it. He couldn't speak, much less move. He vaguely felt someone picking up, but he was too far gone. A few moments later, he felt nothing at all, and he fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Dro:** Hm...mysterious ending is mysterious.

**Next Chapter:** Matthew wakes up in an unfamiliar place with the two SS officers watching over him, one of which seems far more interested than the other.


	21. Of Disillusionment & Stubborness

**Dro: **Early today because I had no class. Have at it! And do **review** please!

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew wakes up to a interesting sight.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still don't own APH. Damn.

* * *

Waking up was always a slightly different experience every time one did it. This waking was the strangest Matthew had ever experienced. He opened his eyes to reveal a white-haired, red-eyed, SS officer staring down at him, looking amused. He gasped and tried to sit up and roll away, searching for anything that could be used a weapon. But the officer held him down.

"Whoa! Kid, stop! You're going to hurt yourself."

Matthew froze as he felt a sharp pain travel up his side. What the hell had…? Shot. He'd been shot. Right. He let the officer lay him back in his original position. He felt his face begin to warm up as remembered _why_ he had been outside and gotten shot in the first place. He swallowed nervously, unwilling to meet the curious and strange red gaze from the man sitting next to him. These were the two who claimed that they had Al, the one sitting next to him and the blond man, who currently wasn't here. Matthew scrutinized the room. It seemed to be a house right in town, and Matthew wondered how the two men could be so bold as the keep him here. If he accidentally walked by the window in sight of any other SS, he was in trouble.

"Hungry?"

The voice drew him from his thoughts. "Oh…" He realized he was _starving_. "Yes. Thank you." He wasn't sure why he was so being so trusting this morning. Maybe they had given him pain medication? Well, whatever they'd given him, it wasn't nearly strong enough. His hip and abdomen were almost constantly throbbing, and every time he shifted, a sharp jolt of pain would make him cringe. He let himself relax on the bed. There was no point in trying to be rash, not about this. If he'd truly found the people who had been helping Al, then it couldn't be much harder to actually get to Al.

The red-eyed man—wait, he had a name…Gilbert?—returned with some kind of oatmeal. Matthew ate it without hesitation, trying to show the man that he had at least some trust in him. Gilbert seemed satisfied. Matthew curled his toes and took a breath.

"About yesterday…" He assumed it was yesterday. "Thank you for saving me."

Gilbert shrugged. "Ludvig shot you to begin vith, so it vas also our mistake."

Matthew shook his head. "No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have been running around in the woods."

Gilbert stared at him, suspicious. "Ja…that. I vas vondering...vhy vere you out there crying?"

Matthew stiffened. Of course Gilbert would ask that. Anyone would ask that if they' d seen him in such a pathetic state. But what was Matthew supposed to say? He couldn't tell Gilbert—he was an _SS _officer—that he was in love with his _male_ cousin. He couldn't tell anybody that. That was a road to instant shunning, if not outright punishment. He gripped the sheets tightly.

"It's not something I want to talk about."

Gilbert eyed him knowingly, as if suspected something, and Matthew felt a chill run down his spine. Those red eyes felt _piercing_, like they were staring right _into_ him. He really needed to change the subject, and he had a perfect idea that slammed into him and nearly scared him to death.

"Arthur! Where's Arthur?"

Gilbert perked up, confused. "Who?"

"The guy that was with me. You were searching for both of us."

Gilbert's mouth formed a silent 'o'. "Ah, him…Ja…about that." He paused to cough. "Ve 'ave no idea vhere he is."

"What?" Matthew's pulse started to quicken. On one hand, that could quite possibly be a good thing. If Arthur hadn't been found by Ludwig and Gilbert, then he hadn't been found by any of the SS. But that also meant that Matthew had no idea where he was either. "Did you check everywhere?"

"The house near the voods vhere ve found you, ja. Ve also searched the entire area and several other homes. Ve found nothing. He's gone."

Matthew swallowed, his throat suddenly scratchy and dry. What if they couldn't find Arthur? What if the other SS officers got to him first? If he was caught by an actual enemy—not that Ludwig and Gilbert _weren't_ enemies in a sense, but they were helping his brother, so that was a moot point—then he could very well be tortured to death or shot on the spot. Matthew's own run in with the SS had shown just how serious the consequences of capture were. A deep-set fear formed in his heart.

"Please find him. Please." He begged.

Gilbert smiled at him, understanding. "Ve vill try our hardest. But if he is careful enough, he could easily evade us. Ve can do nothing if he escapes this place."

Matthew shook his head. "He won't leave until finds me."

Gilbert pursed his lips. "Then ve vill keep searching, ja?"

Matthew sighed. "Yeah. But be careful. Arthur is highly skilled, and I know he won't trust you."

"Vhy do you trust me?"

"Huh?" That wasn't a question Matthew had been expecting. "Oh, well, you know. You were the one who gave me the letter, after all. And I know that's no reason to actually trust you, but trusting you is the only hope I have of finding my brother."

Gilbert smiled softly. It almost looked out of place on his sharp-featured face. "You love your _bruder_."

"Of course." He answered matter-of-factly. "He's my _brother_. We grew up together. We've protected and cared for each other since we were a lot younger. We live together now, no parents. We're like two halves of a whole. It's the reason most people think we're twins at first. I couldn't _not_ love Al if I tried."

Gilbert seemed satisfied with this. He rose to his feet. "I vill return later, ja? I am going to join Ludvig in the search for your cousin."

"Be careful."

Gilbert winked. "I vill. For you." Then he was out the door and stomping quickly down the stairs. Matthew sat there with the remainders of his food on his lap, confused. Confused as to why in God's name Gilbert had said that. And even more confused about why he was blushing because of it.

* * *

Arthur crouched lower behind the row of hedges as another man exited the house. He scowled at the strange white-haired officer, who seemed to be surveying the area. Tightening the grip on one of his handguns, he aimed directly for the man's chest. But he started to move before Arthur could get the shot off, and Arthur was forced to lower his weapon, swearing silently. He'd followed the large blond officer here earlier, and he'd been trying to figure out just how many officers were inside and where they keeping Matthew. He'd barely gotten a glimpse of them the night before, running with Matthew in their arms. He knew his boy was in there somewhere, probably tied up in the basement or attic.

Matthew was already injured. And if what he'd seen last night hadn't been misinterpreted, he'd probably been shot as well. Now they were probably torturing him for information. Arthur felt his heart constrict. _Not again. Please don't let that happen to him again._ What the hell had Matthew done to deserve this? He knew he needed to get into that house and get Matthew out as soon as possible. Before something happened to him that couldn't be fixed, couldn't heal. Or worse.

He had been surprised to find no one guarding the outside of the house, but that didn't mean there weren't tons more officers crawling through the building. The silence that seemed to exude from the house had to be false. There _had_ to be officers in there. They wouldn't just have a team of two, right? Well, he _had_ seen small teams, but it didn't make sense. There were many more SS officers in the town. If these two _had_ been operating alone, they still would have reported to the other teams that they had caught Matthew. So there _must_ have been more officers inside, right?

But after the odd white-haired man left, there was no more movement from inside the house. Arthur was tempted to just break down the door and rush in guns blazing, but hell, he wasn't Alfred. Alfred. This was all for him, all this pain, all this fear, all this strife. And Arthur knew he would do it again for the boy. He would do anything for his boys. Die a thousand different deaths. Willingly burn in hell for eternity. Anything that kept his boys safe, anything that made them happy.

A gun pressed against the back of his head.

"Got you." Said a scratchy voice. A shrill whistle sounded off behind him followed by, "Turn around." Arthur was forced to comply. It was the white-haired man. He had made a circle around the outskirts of town and snuck up behind him. Arthur was tempted to kick out at the man, but the man seemed to anticipate his actions. "Do not move. You make this much harder than it has to be. Just drop your guns, get up quickly, and come vith me." He peaked over the hedges. "Ve are mostly invisible to the street on this side, buy just in case, hurry up."

Arthur furrowed his brows and stared at the man, uncomprehending. Why on Earth was this bastard suggesting they try to be covert? Something was up here. The white-haired man suddenly perked up and whipped around—though the gun never left its trajectory—just as the blond officer appeared out of the woods and trudged up to the hedges. He looked visibly relieved.

"Finally. I thought we would never find him."

"Me too." He turned back to Arthur. "Anyvay, up." He motioned with the gun. Arthur rose slowly, glaring at them. What would they bind him with? Rope? Cuffs? Chains? Or maybe they would break his hands. He wouldn't put it past the SS. The gun prodded him in the stomach. "Go," ordered the white-haired man. Arthur shuffled out of the edges, the two officers following behind him. The blond one passed him and opened the door to the house, ushering Arthur inside. As soon as the door closed behind him, Arthur realized the house really _was_ empty. There was no one else inside, at least not on this floor.

He slowly swiveled back around, facing the two men, wondering exactly what the hell was going on. The white-haired man lowered his gun, and Arthur's instincts kicked in. He lunged at the man, tearing the gun from his fingers and pointing it straight at his head. The blond man froze. "Don't move." Arthur demanded. "Move, and I'll shoot him." The blond man held up his hands, signaling defeat.

"Hey!" The white-haired man looked annoyed. "Ve are trying to help you, idiot." Arthur pressed the gun harder against his forehead. He paled slightly, if that was even possible with his washed-out skin tone.

"Look. Listen to us for a moment. We have Matthew. He's upstairs and perfectly fine. Please listen. We have—"

"Shut it! I don't want to hear your lies or your excuses. If you have Matthew, untie him and bring him down. And I swear if you try to bring backup, I'll shoot this man without hesitation."

The blond man frowned deeply, a hint of anger in his blue eyes. "Fine." He turned to head up the stairs, only to stop after a few steps, staring stunned at the staircase.

"What are you…?" Arthur's eyes locked on to where the man was staring. Matthew stood on the staircase, wearing a loose pair of trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, revealing a swath of gauze tied around his waist and hip. He leaned heavily on the banister, surveying the scene with wide eyes.

"Arthur…" He whispered. He seemed to snap out of his daze. "What are you doing? Stop! They're helping us!"

"W-what?" Arthur had no idea why Matthew would have had that idea in his head, and he wondered just what these men had done to him. "Don't be foolish, Matthew!"

"I'm not! These are the guys who saved Alfred!"

Arthur's world seemed to collapse around him. Two SS officers had saved…That wasn't possible. Why in God's name would two of the most God-_forsaken_ men save Alfred, an enemy pilot? But Matthew looked wholly convinced he was telling the truth. However, Arthur's mind had stopped functioning, and it wasn't until Matthew spoke again that he dropped the gun.

"Arthur, the man you're threatening is the one who gave me the letter."

Arthur stared down at the white-haired man, who nodded slowly. Arthur's grip on the gun went lax, and he ended up letting it slide off the man's head and onto the floor. "Oh." What had he been expecting in the people who had saved Alfred? A couple of civilian sympathizers, perhaps? Certainly not two SS officers. Why would any SS officer—monsters that they were—saved a downed American pilot?

The white-haired man coughed. "Hey, uh, vould you mind getting off of me?"

Arthur silently backed away and leaned against the wall.

The blond man sighed. "It seems we have a lot of explaining to do."

The white-haired man, sitting up, nodded. "Should I bring out the beer then?"

* * *

**Dro: **I feel like that was such a Gilbert thing to say.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred wakes up to an equally interesting sight.


	22. Of Awkwardness & Terror

**Dro: **Hey, lazies! Yes, you! What happened to reviewing **In the Shadow of Wonderland?** I was quite perturbed to watch my responses drop of by half in a single chapter. If I'm doing something wrong, do inform me please. Anyway, onto this chapter! The one you've all been waiting for for, like, six days. Please read and **review**!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred wakes up a strange situation.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH, people. Do not be fooled by anyone that tells you otherwise.

* * *

Alfred awoke to harsh whispers in a language he couldn't understand. It sounded vaguely familiar to something he'd heard somewhere at some point in his life, but he just couldn't place it. So he let it drift into his ears without attempting to decipher it. He wasn't sure where he was, and he felt too relaxed to care. Had someone given him drugs or something? He was sure it was abnormal to feel this way when you were in a foreign place with unknown people around you that could quite possibly be planning to heinously torture you at some point in the near future. He tried to remember how he'd gotten here. He dimly remembered that he'd been forced to leave the house and run away from SS officers. He'd been on a road, a dirt road…for hours. Ah, that's right. He'd had no water, and he'd ended up what? Passing out?

He sighed.

The talking immediately stopped.

Alfred cringed. That had most certainly not been his intention. He heard the shuffling of fabric and the grating of a chair against a floor. Someone walked over to him. He could feel the person standing above, looking down. _"Sir, are you awake?"_ The man said in rough German. His voice was soft and high, and his accent made his German sound unnecessarily harsh.

Alfred started talking. "I…yes." Then he realized he'd just answered in English, and he wanted to smack himself.

The man paused. "Oh!" He switched into English. "You speak English?" His English was much better than his German, Alfred had to admit.

"American…" He mumbled. Something in his brain told him it was probably a bad idea to be giving sensitive information to someone who could quite possibly be an enemy, but he was really too lethargic to care at this point.

"Ah, well, that certainly is making more sense to the situation, da?" Another voice piped up in the background. Alfred immediately recognized the accent now that he was speaking English.

"Russian."

"Da." The man replied.

"Not me." Said the other man. "Lithuanian."

Alfred was too embarrassed to admit he had no idea where that was. "Okay. Sounds good. So, where am I, and what am I doing here?"

"We picked you up on the road." The Lithuanian man answered. "You had passed out from dehydration. So we brought you here. It's just a temporary shelter. A cabin outside of the nearest town."

"Do not be telling the American all our secrets now, Toris."

"I'm not, Ivan. He at least deserves to know where he is."

Ivan seemed to mull this over. "That is being true. But he may still be spy for the Germans."

"Huh? I'm not a spy. If it wasn't for the damn Nazis, I wouldn't even be here right now." _Well, I wouldn't be _alive_ either, but that's not exactly the point I'm trying to make here. _He sat up from the small cot he'd been laid on, his head swimming pleasantly. Oh yes, they'd given him some drugs.

"Hmm, so you are saying. Care to be telling us about yourself?" The Russian asked, amused.

"Name's Alfred. Pilot. Shot down during a raid several weeks ago."

"Is making sense, I suppose. However, it is being a mystery of how you survived. Taken in by sympathizer?"

"Y-yeah." He lied. He obviously couldn't tell these people the truth. One, they'd probably they'd never believe him. Two, he didn't want to risk getting Ludwig and Gilbert in trouble.

The Russian was silent after this point, and Alfred could _feel_ the man's eyes boring holes in head, trying to find out what it was Alfred wasn't saying. But Alfred refused to say anymore on the point, and the kind Lithuanian gave him some food. The pair switched back into Russian, the actual Russian sounding mildly angry. The Lithuanian was apparently attempting to reassure him, but it didn't appear to be working. What had they called each other? Ivan and Toris? He scoffed to himself. Of course he'd get rescued by such an odd pair. But…who were they? And why were they in Germany? They obviously weren't very Nazi-friendly.

There was more movement in the room. Something was tossed onto his lap. "Clothing for you." The Russian—Ivan—said. "Your original garments are being dirty, da?"

"Yeah. I got that." He absent-mindedly tugged the sheets up higher. "I'll get dressed when I feel like getting out of bed."

"Oh, you are still being in pain? Toris gave you much of our pain medication earlier. You are being injured from falling. Appreciation is in order, da? We should not be wasting medicine on stray dogs."

Alfred frowned. He didn't like this Russian, this Ivan. Granted, no Russian was trustworthy. Not now, anyway. Not with communism. And that Stalin character they dared to call a leader. It was almost as bad as being with stuck with the Nazis. Not that Ludwig and Gilbert were bad. Or were they? They _were_ still working for the SS, but…He shook his head. He wasn't going to let himself get too conflicted about this. If he thought about it too long, he knew he would only confuse himself more.

He waited until he heard Ivan move away, and then he tried to covertly slip on his undergarments. He knew he failed when he heard Ivan chuckling at him under his breath, and he bit his lip, trying to bite back a rising blush. After he was dressed, he sat on the side of the bed, unsure of what to do next.

"Um, so, do you want me to leave now?"

"What?" Toris answered. "Of course not, Mr. Alfred. We couldn't let you go back out there. You can't see. That would be cruel."

"Then, what am I supposed to do?" What exactly did they expect, that he would—

"You will be staying here. With us. We will eventually be leaving, da? We can be taking you with us."

"You…want to take me to _Russia?_" He had enough about Russia to never want to step foot in the damn country.

Ivan laughed. "Nyet. Not necessarily. We could be dropping you off in any country you like. Personally, I do mind leaving you here, but Toris is saying it would upset him to leave a poor cripple all by himself, and I am disliking Toris when he whines."

"Ivan! That is _not_ what I said!"

Alfred's face burned. He was _not_ a fucking cripple! Okay, so he was blind, but plenty of people were. It didn't make him a cripple. Did it? Certainly, he had been a invalid at one point, unable to fulfill even basic tasks by himself. But he'd recovered a lot since then. He could feel his way around…as long as there was something to _there_ to feel. Of course, there wasn't always. He could feed himself. But he couldn't actually _get_ food from a store. He had to have it brought to him. He couldn't drive a car, sure, but he could...he could…he really _couldn't_ do that much, could he? He'd thought he'd making so much progress, but in reality, he still couldn't perform most daily functions.

"Now look at what you've done, Ivan! He doesn't deserve to be humiliated like this!"

"I am just teasing, Toris."

"Well, don't!" Alfred yelled. "It's not funny! I'd like to see you crash to the ground in a burning plane and suffer horrific injuries, then turn around and laugh about it!"

Silence filled the room. Then, "That is…not what I meant to…imply, comrade."

"Well, you did!" He gripped the sheets tightly. He didn't know why he was so angry about it. Maybe it was just because these people were foreign to him. He'd been so used to Ludwig and Gilbert for such a long time…maybe he just wasn't used to these people. Yeah, that was it. He took a deep breath. "Look, just…can you take me to…?" He tried to remember the name, but it didn't sound right on his tongue. Apparently, it was though.

Toris seemed surprised. "Why do you want to go there?"

"My…the people who saved me are there. They had to go…visit some family for an emergency. They left me at their house. But then the SS found me there, so I ran."

"And these saviors of yours, comrade, do they also happen to be SS?" Ivan asked, his voice low and dangerous

Alfred went rigid. "W-where you get that idea from? They're just some normal people!"

Ivan's massive hand wrapped around his neck. Toris gasped, and something made of glass crashed to the floor. Ivan's hot breath brush against his ear. "Do you know what I am thinking, comrade? I am thinking you were staying with SS, working with SS. And I am thinking you were sent as decoy to lure us out."

"N-no!" Alfred coughed out. Ivan's hand tightened around his neck. "I swear! You're wrong! P-please!" The hand released him.

"Perhaps I am. But I know you are not telling the truth. So tell me now, or I will be strangling it out of you."

He scrambled for a cover story, but he couldn't of anything that Ivan would buy. So he was forced to tell the truth. He stumbled over the words, gripping the sheets so hard he was sure he would rip right through the fabric. When he finished, no one spoke for several seconds.

"Hm. That is interesting." Was all Ivan said. Then he moved away from Alfred. A few moments later, a door opened and closed, the Russian's presence seemed to fade from the atmosphere of the room.

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. He jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. "I apologize for him. He's, unfortunately, usually paranoid like this."

"No, I…I'm just caught up in such a weird situation."

"True. I can't imagine what compelled those two to help you, but you certainly were lucky."

Alfred liked Toris. He was understanding and compassionate. The total opposite of his partner. "So, I know you probably don't trust me, but I'm really curious. What are the two of you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

Alfred racked his brain. "…Spies?"

Toris chuckled. "Yes. In a sense. We're tracking the SS' movements in this area. We have people inside doing covert missions, and Ivan and I were assigned to make sure that nothing goes wrong. We have to know where they're going. If any of our team members are ordered… 'back' to Berlin, then we have a problem. The other day, we noticed a good deal of them moving to another town, and we got word they were doing some kind of mission to retrieve to enemy soldiers. So we moved out to chase after them after getting confirmation, and, well…we ran across you."

"I see." Russian spies. Well, one Russian spy and his Lithuanian…what? Sidekick? Ivan certainly had an air of being in charge.

Said man in charge reentered a few minutes later. "We will keep moving toward the other town tomorrow morning. Until then, we will rest. Any problems?"

"So, you're taking me with you then?"

"Da. You are…amusing. I would be liking to keep you around. And if what you say is true, then maybe we will be running into your mysterious SS saviors? That would be fun, da?"

No. No, that would not be fun at all. Alfred suddenly realized he was in an incredibly awkward position. He had two SS officers that cared about him roaming around somewhere nearby, but he was stuck with a Russian spy that he was almost sure wouldn't give up the opportunity to _interrogate_ any SS he got his hands on. Which degraded Alfred into nothing more than bait. And he knew that Ivan knew that. He could feel the bastard's smile from where he was sitting. He could already see the entire thing unfolding. Ivan would dangle him out like chopped up squid, and Ludwig and Gilbert would come running to save him, and then…

Why was it, Alfred wondered, that God always played the cruelest tricks on _him_?

* * *

**Dro: **Out of all the guesses I got about who picked up Alfred, _none_ of them were Russia and Lithuania. Totally got you there!

**Next Chapter: **Arthur watches some kind of strange relationship blossom between Gilbert and Matthew. And he doesn't like it. At all.


	23. Of Suspicion & Distrust

**Dro: **This story is about to get really tense and action-packed. Yay! So do read and **review**. Please and thank you!

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur gets annoyed at the budding relationship between Gilbert and Matthew. Then, of course, something bad happens.

**Warnings: **Language, Violence

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH, peoples! Understanding that will make reading the terrible things I do to characters much easier on you.

* * *

Never before this day could Arthur have woken up to say he was actually glad to have Nazis staying in the same house he was. They'd spent most of the afternoon and night talking about Alfred—his injuries, his chances of a full recovery—and Arthur had gone to sleep exhausted, images of Alfred burned and blinded and scarred floating through his dreams. He'd been happy enough just to learn that Alfred was recovering from most of his injuries, but he'd become fixated on the blindness. How would Alfred spend the rest of his life blind? Arthur tried to imagine those vibrant blue eyes lacking their sight, ruined for life.

He sat up and shook his head, trying to banish the pessimism from his mind. There was no need for that. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. Until then, he would just concentrate on the fact that Alfred was alive and getting better every day. He slipped out of bed and glanced across the room. Matthew's bed was vacant. He put on a new set of clothes—courtesy of his new SS "friends"—and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. They still had quite a conundrum on their hands to solve, so he figured they'd be working that out for most of the day.

The problem was, of course, how Ludwig and Gilbert were going to be able to leave and go back to their original post. Their mission was to capture Matthew and himself, and they were supposed to stay until that task was completed. But if they were harboring the pair of them secretly, then how could they possibly _capture _them? Arthur had a few ideas, and he planned to discuss them at breakfast. He turned into the doorway that led into the kitchen, faltering as he saw the scene in front of him.

Matthew sat next to the elder brother, Gilbert, laughing happily as the SS officer told some silly childhood story. Arthur frowned. It didn't matter whether the brothers were helping them or not. They were still SS, and they were still the enemy as far as he was concerned. He didn't want Matthew getting too wrapped up in them. On cue, Matthew noticed his presence and stopped laughing. Gilbert's strange red eyes flicked over to him, the smile dropping from his face.

"_Guten Morgen_, Kirkland. Sleep vell?" Gilbert's obviously fake amity did not go unnoticed by Arthur.

"Just dandy, thank you, Beilschmidt." He replied coldly. He didn't miss Matthew's cringe. He marched around the table and helped himself to the already prepared food, then he sat himself down in front of the pair. He knew Matthew was smart enough to know not to get too involved with these people, but that didn't stop him from worrying. He'd already lost one of the brothers to these Nazis bastards, and he'd damned if he'd lose the other one. They ate in silence from that point on, Gilbert occasionally throwing him nasty glances. As Matthew was washing his dishes off, Ludwig walked backed into the room, looking extremely pale from Arthur's point of view.

"What happened?" He immediately asked.

Ludwig nearly collapsed into a chair. Gilbert looked stunned. "_Bruder_, vhat's vrong?"

"I…" Ludwig tossed his hat on the table, running a hand through his now disheveled blond hair. "I don't even know what to say…"

"How about the truth?" Arthur snapped.

"Arthur…" Matthew warned. He turned to Ludwig. "Can you try?"

Ludwig leaned over the table and put his face in his hands. "We just received a report from…That bastard. They…they took a team out to the house where we were hiding Alfred."

Sirens went off in Arthur's head. "Excuse me? What are you saying? Why would a team go looking for Alfred?"

"Shit…" Gilbert whispered. "…Not too long ago, an officer stumbled upon Alfred vhile he vas outside. He vas able to make up a cover story, and the officer vas beneath us and reported back to us. But before ve vere able to completely cover it up, ve vere ordered to come here. Ve thought…ve thought the bastard vould just leave it, but apparently he decided to take matters…into his own hands." Gilbert eyed his brother warily. "Ludvig…"

"They did not capture him. He ran."

"What?" Arthur slammed his hands on the table. "What do you mean he _ran_? I thought Alfred was blind!"

"He is." Ludwig said solemnly. "But he can also find his way around quite well. At least, to a certain point. As soon as there's nothing to feel his way by, he is…he is helpless. They searched the entire woods for him too, which can only mean he made it to a road or a field and kept going. But that would mean that…"

"He vould be lost."

Alfred. Lost. Wandering blindly along in a field until he collapsed. Until he…died. Arthur punched Ludwig in the face so hard he fell out of his chair. "Protect him, my arse! You bastard! You promised just yesterday that he was fine!" He made to lunge at the fallen officer, only to have Matthew hold him back.

"Arthur, stop! It's not his fault!"

"It is! It's all their faults! They're Nazis! Every one of them is to blame for this!"

Ludwig cupped his cheek, his eyes downcast. Gilbert had risen to his feet, and he sent a murderous glare at Arthur, which Arthur gladly returned. He struggled against Matthew's hold but froze when he heard Matthew whimper. He was suddenly intimately aware of Matthew's gunshot wound, and he went limp in the boy's arms, breathing deeply.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered. Hesitantly, Matthew released him and stumbled into a chair, gently holding his side. Arthur swallowed nervously. "Are you all right, Matthew?" Matthew nodded silently and wouldn't meet his eyes. He passed over Gilbert's accusing gaze and landed on Ludwig's form, still hunched on the floor. He didn't even try to get up. He looked like he was lost somewhere deep within himself. He looked _devastated_.

It occurred to him then, for the first time, just how emotionally invested they _all_ were in Alfred. Arthur felt immensely selfish. He'd been acting like he and Matthew were the only ones who understood, were the only ones who cared. But for some reason—one he was wasn't sure he'd ever understand—the brothers cared just as much as he did. He'd been considering only his own feelings this entire time. He slowly backed out of the kitchen and turned around, his shoulders shaking.

His voice shook worse. "So, what does this mean for Alfred? How will we find him?"

No one in the room could answer.

* * *

Matthew stared longingly out the window, the blue sky the only thing in his field of vision. He wondered where Alfred was right now, if he was hurt, if he was scared. More than once, his brain had produced the image of his brother rotting in a ditch, and it had taken all his willpower not to violently retch. He was still cradling his side. His struggle with Arthur had pulled on his wound, and it was throbbing painfully. He sighed loudly. Just when he'd thought everything was going to be fine, he'd ended up right back where he'd started. He had no idea where Alfred was. Hell, for all he knew, his brother was really dead this time!

He didn't want to think about that though. He wanted with all his might to believe that Alfred was out there somewhere, perfectly fine. But that was a dim hope, he knew. Just because the SS hadn't found him didn't mean he was okay. He could be starving by now, dying of thirst in a field somewhere. He could have fallen and hurt himself. _Anything_ could have happened to him. He could be—

The door creaked open.

Matthew didn't bother turning around. He knew it would be Arthur, finally coming to apologize for his outburst. It wasn't the first time he'd lost his temper like that, and it wouldn't be the last. Arthur was normally composed—though always irritable to an extent—but he occasionally lost himself in rage. Matthew had seen it several times before, and he honestly had no desire to watch that kind of scene unfold again, especially when they were in such a dangerous and fragile situation to begin with. So much had gone wrong already, and there was still so much that could.

A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing gently. A hand that was most certainly _not_ Arthur Kirkland's. Matthew's face began to rapidly heat up as he slowly turned his head to see who was standing next to him, though he already knew exactly who it was. Gilbert peered down at him, smiling softly. "You okay, kid?" He asked, seating himself in a chair next to Matthew.

Matthew turned his head away. "Um, fine." He felt odd around Gilbert. He wasn't sure what that was, and he wasn't sure if he liked that feeling or not either. But Gilbert was someone to talk to, and that was enough for Matthew to accept his presence.

"I am sorry about all of this. It should not 'ave happened this vay. Alfred should still be fine. Ve…Me and Ludvig…ve really messed this up."

Matthew shook his head. "No, it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done, and I refuse to blame you for it. You've gone against your government and risked your lives for Alfred. I can't ask for any more than you've already done. What's happened now…that's…no one's fault except the perpetrators'." Neither man said anything for several minutes after that. They both stared out of the window, eyes directed up at the clear blue sky, the sky that Alfred use to love being immersed in.

After a while, Matthew realized that Gilbert's gaze had actually shifted to him. At first, he passed it off as just curiosity. He and Alfred looked a lot alike, so Gilbert was probably noting the differences. But after several seconds, he began to squirm under the man's gaze. _Why is he looking at me like that?_ Granted, he couldn't really tell exactly _how_ Gilbert was looking at him. All he could see was the man's stare trained at him in his periphery, but it was still uncomfortable. He nearly jumped out of his seat when Gilbert's hand touched the side of his face. His fingers swept across Matthew's cheek, catching a few stray locks of hair and tucking them behind his ear.

They vanished as a loud set of footsteps stopped in front of the door. It opened a second later to reveal Ludwig standing there. His cheek was heavily bruised. Matthew was surprised to see Arthur standing behind him. The pair of the looked like they had something to say. Without sparing him another glance, Gilbert rose to his feet.

"Vhat is it?"

Ludwig was the one to speak. "We have a plan."

* * *

They sank to their knees as they were prodded with guns. The other SS officers looked them over and talked amongst themselves, their expressions like cold steel. Finally, seemingly satisfied, one of them barked orders at Gilbert and Ludwig, who heaved the pair back to their feet and forced them to walk forward. Gilbert was trying to be as gentle as he could without giving away the ruse, as he was afraid of hurting Matthew further, but there was only so much he could feign, and he knew he'd pulled too hard when he felt the younger man jerk under his touch. He wished he could've gotten away with whispering an apology, but he knew that was impossible.

Arthur's expression was ambivalent, Gilbert noted. The British man seemed to lack trust in them, and Gilbert couldn't really blame him for that. All in all, his hesitance to trust them was probably making his act better. They needed this to be perfect. It was a risky maneuver, and it anything went wrong, it would could end in all their deaths. Their plan was hardly simple, and Gilbert had been irritated at how convoluted it sounded when Ludwig and Arthur had explained it to them. First, they would pretend to have caught the two men like usual and they would take them back to the other SS team, tied up and a little roughed up, for good measure. Of course, most of the "roughing up" was fake. Animal blood, some dirt, some tears of their clothing. But they had made it look legitimate. The only one they'd actually injured was Arthur, who was now sporting a bruise around his left eye, courtesy of Gilbert.

Gilbert would've been the first to admit he had enjoyed giving the snotty British man that mark. He needed to be taken down a peg or two. Plus, he mused, it was ample revenge for the man pinning him to the ground and pointing a gun at him the other day. But now the fun and games were over, and they were faced with a very real and very dangerous situation. They had to play their roles perfectly. His role, of course, was to pretend to leave along with Ludwig to return to return to their regular posts. Then, after "leaving town," they would round back and hide out outside the house where Matthew and Arthur were being kept. Then, they would a set a fire.

Apparently, that had been Arthur's idea. The man had claimed he'd used the tactic to save Matthew before. Except this time, they were going to make it look accidental. And tragic. Tragic in that the two captives were going to burn to death. Except they weren't. It was just going to appear that way. Because Matthew and Arthur were going to be tied up in the basement, and there was no way they could escape a fire, right? The house would come tumbling down around them in flames, and they would "die." Except by that point, they would already be gone. Because they had all the tools necessary to break any bindings that were used on them. Hidden, of course.

Their success on this mission heavily depended on easily variable factors, and Gilbert didn't like that. Suppose the other officers decided to search the boys again for good measure. Then what? They'd all be in trouble. Suppose they ended up "interrogated" before the night was over. Then they wouldn't be able to escape. There were many things that could go wrong, and that bothered Gilbert a lot, but it was the best thing they could come up with in the time they had. They _had_ to get back and search for Alfred. Soon.

So they _would_ go through with this. And they _would_ succeed.

Gilbert would make sure of it.

No matter what the cost.

* * *

**Dro: **So, who thinks this plan is going to go perfectly? ...-silence-...No one? Really? Huh, can't imagine why that would be.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred is forced to ride along with Toris and Ivan toward Gilbert and Ludwig's current location. Perturbed by how the Russian treats him, Alfred starts to reevaluate his relationship with the brothers.


	24. Of Struggle & Confusion

**Dro: **Ah, I've been waiting for this chapter. And next chapter. And the chapter after that. These three are like the triad of unresolved sexual tension and relationship development. Anyway, please do read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred struggles to deal with Ivan as he gets closer and closer to Ludwig and Gilbert's location, leading to another emotional breakdown that ends in a surprising way.

**Warnings: **Mentions of past violence

**Disclaimer: **You know this already. If you don't...for some really odd reason, click the back button and read last chapter's disclaimer.

* * *

Alfred sat uncomfortably wedged between the two men. Toris was driving; in fact, he seemed to be the one that did anything that involved work. Period. Ivan was lounging on the other side of Alfred, tapping his fingers on the window glass. It was a highly irritating sound. He'd been doing it intermittently since their apparent four hour drive had started an hour ago. He knew Ivan was doing it just to rile him up, and it was working. He'd been highly annoyed at the man since the previous day, but he was at a loss of what to do. This was a delicate situation. If he screwed this up, he could potentially hurt Ludwig and Gilbert.

As it was, he knew Ivan was planning to planning to use him as a lure to reel in Ludwig and Gilbert when they arrived. Somehow, he _had_ to use that to his advantage. Because that was all he had. Captivity status was all he had. He inwardly berated himself for falling into this position. He should've been able to get out of this. He'd been so cocky before the accident, but crashing down in flames had humbled him, and it should have made him smarter too. But it seemed he had learned very little after all. He cursed himself. He should have been _better_ than this.

"Something wrong, comrade?"

He frowned at the name. "No."

"Do not lie. You are upset we are using you to get to your SS friends, da?"

Alfred wished he could just strangle the bastard. "Look, you already have your way, so just shut up, will you? Is there any particular reason you want to piss me off right now, especially when we're in such cramped quarters? Huh? You want to start a fist fight in the truck?"

"I am sure it would not be much of a fight."

Alfred growled. "You still didn't answer my question."

Ivan grabbed his arm and pulled him close, grazing Alfred's ear with his lips. "I am bored, and you amuse me."

Alfred recoiled so hard he crashed right into Toris, causing the poor man to nearly lose control of the car. He sighed. "Ivan, really, do you have to tease him so much? Isn't it enough that we're basically keeping him prisoner?"

Ivan laughed loudly. "Ah, Toris, you never see the humor in things."

Toris sighed louder. "Actually, I think your brand of humor just isn't for everyone, Ivan."

Ivan was silent on this point, and Alfred realized that despite initial appearances, Toris did have some kind of defense against Ivan. Not nearly enough to rid the man of his vindictive personality completely but enough to at least quell his sadistic tendencies temporarily. He knew now that Toris had been with Ivan for a long time, and he pitied the man. He commended him on being able to put up with the Russian bastard for so such a long time, but it was still a sad, sad situation. No one deserved to have to be in this ass's presence for so long. Alfred was sure if he'd been in Toris' position, he probably would have killed himself long ago. Ivan was already on the verge of driving him insane, and he'd hadn't even known the man for two full days yet.

Then Ivan started humming.

_Oh God, make it stop!_

And after that finally ended, he started twirling some of Alfred's hair despite his adamant protests. And then he dared to pull Alfred into his lap, at which point Alfred accidentally kicked Toris and sent the truck careening into a field. Alfred would have felt bad if it wasn't for the fact that Ivan was the only one strong enough to effectively push the truck out of the dirt while Toris steered and floored the pedal. He laughed the entire time, which earned him some angry sounding Russian, but it was worth it. Two could play this game, Alfred knew. And he was intent on making sure Ivan got the message loud and clear.

Finally, late in the afternoon, they arrived at their destination. They stopped at a house somewhere outside of the town, where Ivan spoke with someone who was apparently part of their Soviet spy ring. Then Toris ushered Alfred inside the house and left him sitting on a couch while he joined Ivan and the other man. There was really no point in leaving him alone. They could have just as easily spoken right in front of him as opposed to the down hall, considering that Alfred didn't understand a lick of Russian.

But he sat there obediently and waited, not wanting to incite the other spy against him. He was more than likely an unwelcome guest, and he could feel the tense atmosphere surround him as the three men returned. Toris simply said they would be staying with him while they were in town. No one bothered to tell Alfred who "him" actually was. He didn't even get a name. He supposed he could understand that on some level. They _were_ spies after all, and they really had no reason to think Alfred was trustworthy.

And, after a while of mulling over it, Alfred realized he wasn't. He would tell everything they said to Gilbert and Ludwig in a heartbeat. Because he trusted the brothers. He didn't trust these people. Toris seemed like a nice guy, sure, but Ivan…He didn't even think he could classify what kind of person he thought Ivan was. The man was not outright cruel, but he seemed to have violent tendencies, and when certain buttons were pressed, he would lash out at whoever pushed them. Alfred wondered just how it was that Toris dealt with Ivan. Had Ivan hurt him in the past? He wouldn't put it past the man who had nearly _strangled him_ the day they met.

Later in the day, the four men sat around a dinner table. Alfred spent the first few minutes feeling where everything was before he starting eating. He could feel the eyes on him, watching his every move. They were fascinated by him, by how he could still function as a moderately normal person despite his disability. He wondered if all blind people received this treatment, like they were all miracles for being able to perform basic tasks. He frowned at the thought.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Alfred?" Toris asked politely.

He eased his frown. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, I am sure I would not be fine if I was to be used as bait for getting my _good_ SS officer friends caught." Ivan replied, trying his best to provoke the younger man.

Alfred wasn't having it. "Quite sure, actually, considering I know how much smarter the brothers are than you."

Ivan's low chuckle immediately stopped. "Do not be pushing me too far, American boy."

"If I had pushed you too far, I'd be dead. You're a lot easier to read than you think." He took a bite of his biscuit.

Ivan was silent for several moments, and Alfred imagined he him glaring contemplatively at him. Granted, he really didn't know what Ivan looked like…besides massive. But he could picture what kind of expressions Ivan would have just by the man's personality. His eyes were probably narrowed, his lips pursed. He would have a slight tilt to his head that indicated he was considering the subject before him. Alfred almost snorted at the image.

Then he heard it.

"Ivan, put down my glass."

He could feel the sudden increase of _awe_.

"How were you knowing that I took it?" Ivan asked as he sat the glass back down next to Alfred's plate.

"Heard you." Alfred said simply.

"That is…impressive." Ivan muttered.

"You've got incredible skills, Mr. Alfred." Toris praised.

"Thanks. Comes with the whole _blind_ thing, apparently."

"So I've heard." Said the man whose name he still didn't know. This was the first time he'd heard the guy speak English.

"Hmm. Interesting." Ivan murmured. Alfred could still feel those eyes on him, trying to decipher whatever secrets he thought Alfred's person contained. Alfred noted that Ivan would probably be very disappointed to learn he was really just _that_ plain and straightforward. He was hiding nothing. He'd told them everything of any significance about his situation here in Germany. Whatever Ivan was deluding himself into believing was just that, a delusion.

Dinner settled back into that same tense silence after that, and Alfred was happy when everyone announced they were going to bed. Toris led Alfred up a set of steps to a small bedroom and asked him if he needed anything. All Alfred wanted was to clean himself up and go to sleep, so Toris obliged by leaving him a warm bucket of water, some new bandages, and a washcloth before wishing him goodnight. Toris really _was_ a nice guy, Alfred reaffirmed.

After the door was firmly closed, Alfred shed his clothing. After being cared for like a baby by Ludwig and Gilbert, he wasn't shy at all about showing his skin, but it had been so long since he'd just had the time and ability to look over himself. Look. Right. He couldn't place the last time he'd actually gotten to look at himself. He thought it might have been just before he left London for the front, in the washroom of the bar that he and Mattie and Arthur frequented. He could remember the image of it well enough. That bright, arrogant smile that stated quite plainly could win the heart of the world if he wanted to.

He wondered if he even still had the ability to smile like that. It wasn't like he could check to see anymore. Sighing, he slowly unwrapped the bandages from his body and let them fall carelessly to the floor. He had felt over his body from time to time, noting mostly which places he could still feel and which he couldn't. Some were in the middle, where he could just feel pressure and nothing else. Some areas felt totally dead. And then others were hypersensitive. He moved his fingers gently across his scarred skin, pausing at each area where his sense of touch changed. There were six places on his body where he couldn't feel anything at all. It was like he hit a blank spot in his body each time. None of them were particularly debilitating, and Alfred thanked God for that.

Really, it was the general scarring he was starting to worry about. He had no idea what his own body looked like anymore. He rose to his feet, running his hands down his legs, his chest, his back, feeling every abnormal contour, every jagged patch of scarred skin, some of it still aching and slowly healing. Most of the burns had just seared his skin, but some of them were deeper. Much deeper. Some of his scars would fade over time. But a lot of them would mar him forever. It was then that Alfred started to imagine his future. If he ever got out of this situation, out of this damned country and back home, what would he do with his life? Who want to marry a blind, scarred ex-pilot? Who would hire him? What, was he supposed to live off Mattie for the rest of his life?

He wrapped his arms around himself. But even then he couldn't escape the scars. He could still feel them underneath his fingers, uneven and unnatural and ugly. He bit his lip and swallowed. _I'm not going to cry about this. I'm not that vain._ _I'm not_.

"There is no reason to be ashamed of your scars."

He whipped around, honing his hearing in on the man who must have been standing in his doorway. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't even noticed Ivan opening the door. Said overlooked presence walked further into the room and closed the door behind him. Alfred was immediately hyperaware that he was wearing nothing but underwear and that Ivan's eyes were looking directly at his exposed body.

"I…" He moved to pick up his clothes, but Ivan beat him there. The man grabbed his hand—gently, surprisingly—and tugged him closer until they were only a few inches apart. "W-what are you doing?"

"Are you thinking you are hideous now? Because of your scars?"

"I…that's none of your business."

"It does not matter whether it is being my business or not, American boy. Answer my question."

Alfred felt his anger flare up. "So what if I do? You know it's true. Don't lie to me. I look like a freak now, don't I? My skin is discolored and patchy and peeling. Some of my burns are still open wounds."

"And…?"

"And what? Do you know what normal people will think when they look at me? Ludwig and Gilbert, you and Toris…even my brother and my cousin, they would understand, sure. They've seen war. They've seen atrocities. They've seen hideous and disgusting war wounds. But what about the girls in my town, huh? What about the mothers buying groceries at the store? What about the old women sitting on their front porches? What about the boys who have never seen a battlefield? What will _they_ think? What will the people I'm going to spend the rest of my life around think?"

"…Do you truly care of those things? What others think?"

"What kind of question is that? What others think of me will affect how I'm treated for the rest of my life. I don't want to be treated as a pitiful. I don't want to be that poor boy who was hurt in the war that _used to be so handsome_. I don't want that. But that's all I see when I think about the future. Isn't it bad enough that I'll never hold another job I want? Isn't it bad enough I'll never _see_ again? Apparently it's not."

Ivan's grip on his arm tightened. "You say you do not want others to pity you, and yet here you are pitying yourself. Pointless. You _are_ pitiful, _Alfred_. A strong man would not flinch when he is facing the opinions of others, no matter how hurtful they may be. A strong man would stand on his own two feet and keep going. A strong man would be getting past such superficial things as appearance. You are _not_ a strong man. You are being weak now. You _deserve_ the pitying of others with the way you are acting."

Alfred stopped struggling. "I…" Ivan was right, he realized. He _was_ being self-pitying. "I…" His inhaled, shuddering. "You're right. I'm…I'm sorry…I just…." His voice hitched an octave, and he realized he had started to cry. Oh, wonderful. Now he'd start _crying_ in front of the hateful Russian spy. He expected the man to tease him more, to cruelly point out his shortcomings again. But Ivan didn't do anything of the sort.

His other hand rose and wiped the tears from Alfred's cheeks. "It is not only your body that is scarred, is it?"

Alfred's throat tightened. "…No."

Ivan sighed. "As I was thinking. You have been trying to hide it, da? The mental trauma."

"I ignore it most of the time. I…" He struggled to speak. "I let myself get distracted."

"But it is not going away, is it?"

"No…"

"It never will completely. I learned the hard way of that."

"You…?" What was Ivan talking about? Of course, he was a spy, so there was always the chance he'd seen some terrible things, done terrible things, had terrible things done to him.

Ivan waited several tense moments to speak. "Is it not being something I can tell you in words." He released Alfred's arm. Alfred listened as Ivan began to shed his clothing, the long coat he'd been wearing fluttering to the ground in a rustle of fabric.

"W…what are you doing?" Alfred whispered.

"You have let me see your scars." Alfred heard the man's shirt slide down his arms. "It is only fair I let you see mine."

* * *

**Dro: **I love writing Russia, whether he's batshit crazy or just really vindictive. One of my top characters in terms of personality.

**Next Chapter:** Arthur, Matthew, Ludwig, and Gilbert have a plan. It doesn't go quite right.


	25. Of Devastation & Surrender

**Dro: **Exams tomorrow, guys. Posting will most certainly not be at the regular time, if at all. Do expect delays. Anyway, today, please read and **review**!

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew, Arthur, Ludwig, and Gilbert have a plan. It doesn't go quite right.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **Eh, too lazy. Go reread last chapter's disclaimer.

* * *

Matthew knew something had gone horribly wrong the moment they came for Arthur. They'd been bound and stuck in the basement just like Ludwig and Gilbert had predicted. Then they'd been left there alone for almost an hour, the sound of guards lingering just outside the door faintly audible as they occasionally spoke. The brothers were supposed to be back in about an hour and half, and it had just been nearing that time when the basement door had burst open, revealing three stern officers standing there.

They descended the steps and stopped a few feet away from their gagged and bound captives. The man nodded his head, and Matthew's heart rate shot up as he realized they were untying Arthur. They dragged him out of the chair and started hauling him out of the room, and the last Matthew saw of him was a glimpse of an alarmed look in his eyes. The remaining man glared at him before turning around and heading back up the steps. The door slammed shut, and Matthew was left in near darkness, only a dim single light bulb shedding pale yellow light in the corner.

He was internally panicking. How was Arthur going to escape while upstairs? How was he going he going to get out? More urgently, what were they going to do to him? Matthew expected the screams to start any minute. He was shaking, remembering how they'd tortured him the last time he'd been caught. He didn't want that to happen to Arthur. Left with no other options, he slipped a small knife from its hiding place in his sleeve and started cutting at the ropes. At the angle his hands were tied, it was a difficult maneuver, but he managed it well enough.

A few minutes later, he was free. And it wasn't a moment too soon. As soon as he rose from the chair, he smelled the smoke. He honed in on the door, where wisps of smoke had started leaking through the gaps. Ludwig and Gilbert had set the plan into action. _Shit._ He was up the stairs in seconds, pulling out a lock pick. He was just about to jam it in the keyhole when the door opened, revealing a surprised officer standing on the other side. Matthew punched him in the nose, the fragile feature cracking under his fist. The man went down and didn't get back up.

He ran down the hallway, coughing lightly as the smoke started to fill the air. He had to pause around every corner to make sure no one was there. But the house seemed to have been abandoned. Fear gripped him. Had they taken Arthur and left? He turned a corner quickly, coming face to face with another officer. He threw another punch, only to have it caught mid-swing.

"Vhoa, kid! Stop!"

It was Gilbert.

"Gilbert…? What are you…?"

"No time! Ludvig saved the Brit. They're outside vaiting." He smirked. "Change of plans." Gilbert starting pulling him along, and he turned toward another set of stairs. "Ve're going up. Ve can jump out the second story vindow and onto the porch top."

Matthew nodded silently and let Gilbert lead him. They had just reached the top step when an angry German shout sounded off behind them, followed by a barrage of gunfire. Matthew instinctively ducked. Several men followed them up the stairs, and Gilbert pulled him into a room and locked the door. They pounded at it, the door straining at the hinges. Gilbert rushed over to the window and flung it open. Matthew joined him, eying the porch roof several feet below.

The lock on the door started break free. Gilbert stared at it for several seconds. "Go." He muttered.

"What?" Matthew wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"I said, go." Gilbert repeated. "If ve both go out the vindow, they vill be following us. Ve can't have them track us. If anyone else ever finds out that my _bruder_ and I helped you escape, ve vill all be in danger. Ve have to make sure they don't get out of this house." He nudged Matthew closer to the window. "So go. I vill hold them off."

Matthew froze. "You…but you can't! There are too many! You'll be killed, Gilbert!"

Gilbert's red eyes seemed to flash as he turned his gaze away from the door. "That does not matter. You matter. You and your brother. You are good people. I am not a good person. I 'ave done heinous things. So, if there is a choice, either me living or you, then you are the choice I vould make. So go. And be safe."

Matthew sucked in air. "Are you crazy? I'm not leaving you here to die! I ref—"

Gilbert pulled him into a kiss. It was rough and dry, chapped lips on chapped lips. It was hot like fire, fueled by desperation and anger. Gilbert pulled back, running one of his hands through Matthew's hair. His furious red gaze had melted into something softer and more emotional. "Go. For me. For your brother."

"I…"

The door nearly came off its hinges.

"Go, Matthew!"

Matthew went.

Less than a minute later, he was on the ground and running as fast as he could, the house behind him going up in flames. There were tears pouring down his cheeks, curses stuck in his throat. He ground to a halt just before he reached the edge of the woods and turned around, looking for any sign of Gilbert.

"Please…please."

The sound of gunshots was his only answer, and he felt his heart deflate. He backed further past the edge of the woods, vines catching on his pants leg. The flames crept closer and closer to the room he'd escaped from. There was no sign of Gilbert. There was no sign of anyone. He took another step back, feeling a thorn bite into his leg. But he didn't care.

He nearly screamed when the house started to crumble, its support beams charred and weak, its walls collapsing into ash. Then it exploded. He was blown backward by the force of the blast, and he landed in a heap within a prickly bush. He cried out, partially from pain, partially from devastation. He curled in on himself, biting back sobs, before forcing himself to his feet.

There was no way anyone could have survived that.

Then he was running. He wasn't sure how long or how far. His face was streaked with tears and blood, his skin nipped and cut by branches and thorns. He stumbled along in the woods until he came to a clearing, and then he let himself fall. He had no idea where the meet up point was, and he didn't care. He sucked in shallow breaths, trying to force himself to breath. It hurt. Everything hurt. His body. His mind. He pressed his face into the ground, biting his lip.

Why had he left?

Why hadn't he stayed?

He should have…he should have…

"Matthew!" Someone was there, shaking him gently. He rolled over, revealing a worried looking Arthur hovering over him. "Matthew, lad, are you all right?"

"Fine." He muttered. The sound of quick, heavy footsteps met his ears, and he realized that Ludwig was closing in on them. Ludwig. How could he tell Ludwig that…?

"What happened?" Ludwig breathed quickly. He scanned the area. "Where is Gilbert?"

Matthew shook his head. It was all he could do. Arthur's eyes widened. "Matthew…are you saying that…?"

Ludwig's composure shattered. First, a rush of disbelief overtook him, and Matthew was sure he was going to start yelling, saying that he was wrong and that Gilbert was fine. Then, the disbelief morphed into pain. Unimaginable pain. Pain so deep that it seemed to tear Ludwig apart right in front of him. Matthew wanted to say he was sorry—so, so sorry—until he was hoarse, but he couldn't get the words out.

Ludwig stumbled backward, eventually sinking to the ground, his eyes distant. Arthur didn't seem to know what to do. How could he? Matthew knew that Arthur had acted the same way when he'd first heard of Al's crash. There was no consolation. There was no comfort. There was only pain.

Only pain.

It was five hours before they got back to the house they were using as a base. The entire town had been awoken by the explosion, and Ludwig had recomposed himself enough to slip back into his act and "investigate." He phoned his superiors later claiming that there had been an accident and that they'd lost an entire team, including the two captives. Including Gilbert. As soon as he got off the phone, his mask cracked again, and he fell into a chair, trying to hold himself together. He hadn't been back to the house, hadn't dared to get close. He checked it out from a distance, and Matthew could tell when he got back that Ludwig's last shred of hope had just slipped through his fingers.

He tried to help the man. He really did. But there was little he could say or do. He couldn't even keep himself together. He kept replaying his last moments with Gilbert over and over. Kept seeing the man kiss him. Kept watching the house erupt into a ball of flames. He wondered how long this moment would haunt his dreams. How long it would break his heart.

Arthur sat across the room from them, fidgeting uncomfortably every few seconds. Matthew knew the man was at a loss of what to do. He didn't particularly care for Gilbert, but he knew the feeling of losing a loved one, and that was enough to dissuade him from acting in his usual manner. They sat in the living room silently for over two hours.

Then the doorbell rang.

Ludwig rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Stay here. If you hear me invite anyone head, head upstairs through the kitchen."

They both nodded silently. Ludwig rose to his feet, slicking back his tousled hair before putting on his hat. He was still obviously disheveled, obviously emotionally compromised. But surely, anyone who was at the door would understand. It was either a townsperson who had heard about the tragedy or another officer who had heard the same. Who else could it be?

Matthew watched Ludwig leave the room, and his eyes briefly met Arthur's. Neither was sure what to say to the other, so the room remained quiet. Matthew listened intently for the sounds of Ludwig opening the door. He heard it. Followed by a gasp. Matthew stiffened. His eyes snapped back to Arthur, who seemed to have gotten the same impression. They rose slowly to their feet, unsure of what they could do if this had really gone south. Neither man was armed. They hadn't thought to grab any weapons. They'd been too confused and hurt.

So they waited. The seconds ticked by without another sound, and Matthew started to wonder if someone had just grabbed Ludwig and ran off with him. He started inching toward the foyer, ignoring Arthur's hiss of warning. He tiptoed closer to the doorway. Just as he was about to peek around it, a voice floated down the hallway.

"You can come out now. I am knowing you are here!" The man said, his voice eerily happy.

Matthew refused to look at Arthur as he gave up his sneaking and walked out into the hallway in full view of the door, his hands raised in surrender. Arthur shuffled behind him, entire body tensed and ready to bolt. Matthew dared to look up. In the doorway was a tall man with pale hair and blue eyes that nearly looked violet in this light. He had a gun pointed at Ludwig's head. He smiled at each of them, his eyes lingering on Matthew. He cocked his head to the side, a brief of flash of confusion shifting into intense interest. Matthew felt chills run down his spine.

The man pushed Ludwig further into the hallway, following closely behind him. His free hand slammed the door shut, and Matthew was sure his smile widened even further. "Privyet, comrades. We are needing to have a chat, da?"

* * *

**Dro: **Gee, their day just keeps getting worse and worse, huh? I _almost_ feel bad.

**Next Chapter: **Ludwig, Matthew, and Arthur end up the captives of a Russian spy. Meanwhile, Alfred laments his _strange_ recurring dream.


	26. Of Discomfort & Reunion

**Dro: **Figured I wouldn't get a chapter out yesterday. I didn't finish unpacking all my crap until like 10:30. Anyway, I'm home now! So we should be all good! Enjoy this chapter! There's some _action _in it! -wink wink- And please do **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred laments the strange dream he keeps having. To make it worse, reality is just as confusing.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **-yawn- Nope. Still don't own APH.

* * *

_His fingers brushed marred skin. He gasped, unsure of just what it was he was feeling. This was too surreal to be actually happening, he thought. And yet, despite his best attempts to wake himself from this dream, it continued. The pads of his fingertips trailed down line after line, some faint, some smooth, some wide, some ragged. It seemed like Ivan's entire chest was nothing but a map of scars drawn over a well-defined chest and abdomen. The curve of the man's muscles was a hill that his scars rolled down, most of them fading off just before reaching the turn of his skin that led to his back. Some of them, however, continued. But he left those for now, unwilling to begin surveying what must have been another whole map on the man's back. _

_His fingers unwittingly dipped into Ivan's navel, and he blushed, whispering an apology. His hands paused at the man's waistband, and he realized with horror that many of the larger scars sank beneath it. Just what had Ivan been through to cause all these wounds? Calloused hands grabbed his own, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Ivan chuckled, guiding his hands back upward, and pressed the fingers against his neck. Alfred sucked in a breath. The scars on Ivan's neck were like a collar, thick and interlocking. He desperately wanted to ask just how Ivan had gotten these, but he was afraid of the answer. He was afraid of hearing a terrifying story of heinous torture. _

"_Are you understanding now, Alfred, why your scars do not make you hideous?"_

"_I…" He was speechless. _

"_Scars show experience. They tell stories, da? Yours are marking you as a survivor. They are not being ugly or disgusting as you think."_

_Despite the fact that Alfred really didn't like this guy and that Ivan was after people he cared people, he still felt his heart warming up to the man. Ivan had obviously been through a lot, and though he was vindictive in the most terrible way, he still seemed to harbor some genuine ability to care for others. Alfred would never claim he actually liked Ivan in any way, shape, or form, but he was starting to think he would grow to tolerate the Russian. At least to some degree. _

"_It is getting late now, American boy." Ivan whispered. "It is being time to sleep, da?"_

"_Ah, yeah. I guess it is. Well," he removed his stagnant hands from the Russian's marred neck, "I'll see you in the morning then?"_

"_Perhaps." Ivan replied, purposefully provoking Alfred into believing he was up to no good. _

_Alfred pursed his lips. "Whatever." He backed away from the towering man. "I need to redo my bandages."_

"_I will do them."_

_Alfred froze, feeling another blush creep up his cheeks. "No, that's okay."_

"_That was not a request, Alfred."_

"_W-what?"_

_Strong hands pushed him down onto the bed, and he cried out. "Quiet." Ivan murmured. "The rest of the house is sleeping." He pulled out one of Alfred's arms and started wrapping the fresh gauze around it. Alfred's face was burning now, but he didn't dare pull away. He tried to stop himself from making any sounds, but when Ivan lifted one of his thighs, he yelped. The man's hands were freezing, and it didn't help that he was touching a very sensitive area. _

_Ivan laughed lowly. "Are you being embarrassed? We are both men, da?"_

"_No! It's not that. It's just…_Damn_, your hands are cold!"_

_Ivan laughed louder. "Ah, is that it? You are so amusing!" He continued his work meticulously, wrapping the gauze firmly but not too tight. Alfred suspected he had done this sort of thing many times in the past, probably to himself. _

_When he was finished, he rose to his feet, yawning. Alfred waited for him to say good night and leave. That was what he had expected. He was sure Ivan had had enough teasing for one night, and he wasn't sure he could stand anymore of the man's "heart to heart" either. It was almost disturbing considering the way he usually acted. He heard Ivan take two steps away._

And that was where reality ended.

In reality, Ivan had joked about him being overly sensitive and simply said good night, saying he would probably be gone by the time Alfred woke up in the morning. Alfred had wanted to make a retort, as he knew that Ivan meant he would be out searching for Ludwig and Gilbert, but Ivan had closed the door before he'd had a chance.

Except, the dream he kept having of this situation…didn't quite end the same way.

_Ivan seemed to hesitate, and Alfred paused, wondering just what the man was doing. The room was silent for a full five seconds. And then everything changed. One second he was just sitting there, confused and suspicious. The next moment Ivan's hands were on his face, holding him in place as he crashed their lips together. Alfred's stomach fluttered, and he groaned in surprise. Ivan's lips were chapped and merciless, tugged roughly on Alfred's own. The kiss was hard and wet, and Alfred's brain failed him when it came to a response. He simply sat there, stunned and motionless. _

_And then a dam seemed to break. His body moved automatically, his arms wrapping themselves around Ivan's neck, his legs hoisting him up before coiling around Ivan's waist. Ivan grunted and stumbled forward, pressing Alfred's bare back against the wall. Alfred gasped at the contact, and Ivan's tongue plunged his mouth, dominating his own. Alfred was hyper-aware of his bare skin. Besides his bandages and his underwear, he was completely naked, and Ivan had yet to put his shirt on back on. His scarred chest brushed against Alfred's burned one, and Alfred sighed softly into the kiss. Ivan ravaged his mouth, claiming every crevice, subduing his tongue until he was too tired to move it. Then he pulled away, leaving Alfred a flushed, panting mess. Alfred shivered when he felt Ivan's hot breath on his neck, and his body shuddered at the feeling of those rough lips nipping at the sensitive skin of his neck._

_And then it was daytime. _

_Alfred was laying back on his bed, the sunlight streaming through the window. His hands were buried in short, slicked back hair, and a pair of tense lips were pressed against his own. Alfred deepened the kiss, and his partner hesitantly responded. The stiff fabric of the man's uniform pressed against Alfred's sensitive skin, and he moaned softly into the kiss. Their lips parted, and Alfred smiled widely. _

"_Ludwig, I—"_

The door slammed open, and Alfred bolted up.

"My apologies, Mr. Alfred!" Toris said quickly.

Alfred breathed heavily, his face on fire. _Not again! _That was the _third_ time in the last twelve hours he'd had that dream. _What in God's name is wrong with me? I'm not a homosexual, damn it!_

Toris walked up to him, placing something next to him on the bed. "I've brought you some more clothing." He sounded rushed. "Breakfast should be up soon. You should probably just rest today, all right? I mean, you're probably still tired from the trip here, right?" He was rambling now.

"Uh, Toris, what's going on?" Alfred's voice was husky and tight, and he hoped to God the blankets were thick enough to mask his obvious arousal.

"Nothing important. Just meeting with some other people today."

"Uh huh." That sounded convincing. "No, really, what are you doing? Is Ivan going to try to capture Ludwig and Gilbert?"

"Uh…" Toris began to stammer.

Alfred's suspicions increased ten fold. "Toris, what time is it?"

"About noon."

"And when did Ivan leave this morning?"

"Ah…how did you know that…?"

"He told me he was leaving early this morning."

"Oh, I see…"

"And is he back yet?"

"Well, he's…you see…"

"Toris." He dropped his voice an octave, trying to sound as threatening as possible. "Did Ivan capture Ludwig and Gilbert?"

"Well…that is, you see…it's not exactly like that."

His hand shot out and grabbed Toris' collar, pulling him forward. He liked Toris. He really did. But Toris was still Ivan's partner. Toris yelped. "Toris, where are they?"

"Ah, Mr. Alfred, please listen!"

"Toris!"

He swallowed. "Downstairs. Kitchen."

He let the man go. "Don't move until I'm dressed. Got it?" Alfred wasn't stupid. He knew Toris could easily overpower him. He was burned and blind. But he had also assessed Toris to be the kind of person who wouldn't hurt another unless he was forced to. And Alfred intended to push that quality as far as he could.

Toris, as per his order, didn't move until Alfred was dressed. He led Alfred down the hallway and to the stairs. "Look, Mr. Alfred. You have to understand. Things didn't go exactly as planned. There were some complications. And some changes. And some unexpected things. And—"

"Toris, just shut up and lead me to the kitchen." He winced inwardly at how harsh that sounded. Toris sighed and helped him down the stairs. As soon as they rounded the banister, a voice erupted from the kitchen.

"You bloody Russian! I swear to God if you touch him again, I'll kill you!"

Alfred froze. That voice. The voice of a man that couldn't possibly be here. Alfred rushed forward, ignoring Toris' plea for him to stop. He couldn't see where he was going, and he didn't care. He followed the impossible voice to its origins, his shoulder slamming into the doorway of the kitchen, nearly sending him toppling over. He grabbed onto to it to steady himself.

"Arthur! Arthur, is that you?"

"_A-Alfred?" _Three voices rang out at once. All three he recognized.

"Arthur? Mattie? Ludwig?" How was it even possible that they were all here? "But…but you…"

"Oh my God, Al!" Mattie cried out. "Are you okay? What's he done to you?"

"You bloody fucker! How dare you!" Arthur shouted. "How long have you been keeping him captive, huh? Alfred, what's this bastard done to you?"

"No…nothing. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine! What about you?"

"Well, _we're_ tied to chairs with a blood Russian threatening to kill us with a knife."

"_What?"_ He growled. "Ivan, what the fuck are you doing? That's my brother and my cousin!"

"So I've surmised." Ivan chuckled. "I was quite surprised to find them housed up with your little SS friend."

"Huh? Arthur…Matt…why were you…wait, how are you even here?"

Matt cleared his throat. "That is…well…we got Ludwig's message that you were alive. Well, I got it. Arthur found it after I'd already left to come find you."

Alfred let his mouth hang open. "You…you _deserted_ the army to come find me in Nazi territory?"

"Are you really that surprised, Alfred?" Arthur retorted. "We are your family after all."

Alfred groaned. "No, you're crazy! That's what you are. I can't believe this!" He turned to where he guessed Ivan was standing. "Will you untie them, please?"

"Hm, I am not being sure that is a good idea."

"Ivan." He crossed his arms. "Come on. They're my _family_. Let them go. The Americans and the British are your _allies_, remember?"

"That is _true_, but seeing as I found them with an SS officer…"

"Oh, for the love of Christ! _He's_ the one that saved Alfred." Arthur was sounding more and more irate by the second.

"So I've heard. I am being very thankful for that, Mr. Beilschmidt. Alfred is most amusing company." Ivan was _still_ laughing.

Alfred pushed off the wall and marched forward, stopping only when his knees brushed against another person. "Alfred?" Ah, Arthur. Alfred felt for the chair. He found it and scooted around, sinking down to where Arthur's hands were tightly bound with rope. He felt for the knot and started to undo it.

"And what is it you think are you doing, Alfred?" Ivan asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

"Untying the people I care about, since you're obviously not going to do it." He snorted. This was a dangerous situation, he knew. But maybe if he kept downplaying it, he thought, he could away with this. He knew Ivan wouldn't let Ludwig slip through his fingers easily, but if he could play Ivan's game the right way, then maybe he could create a situation where Ludwig could escape by his own means.

Finally, after several minutes, he managed to undo Arthur's hands. Arthur shot up, grumbling about the pain. "And what, are you just going to sit there and watch us?"

Alfred could _feel_ Ivan smiling. "Is there being a problem with that? I was under the impression you were all just acting without my consent."

"That's because we don't need your consent to act!" Same old Arthur. The British man's hand landed on his shoulder. "Alfred," he whispered, "are you truly all right?"

"I'm fine, Arthur." He squeezed Arthur's hand. "Really. Um, can you untie Matt for me? It's kind of hard since I, uh, can't see and all."

"Ah…of course." Arthur's fire seemed to suddenly extinguish, and Alfred cringed. His brother and cousin had yet to see the true extent of his injuries. He imagined that, if they'd been with Ludwig, they'd already been told everything. But seeing was different than hearing. He knew that well now.

Ivan hummed. "Alfred, may I speak to you in private for a moment?"

Alfred stiffened, unsure of what Ivan was going for. The Russian wouldn't dare leave Ludwig out of his sight unless…

"Toris, can you watch our dear SS _guest_ for a moment? And please treat Alfred's _family_ to some food."

Ah, right. Toris. Alfred had momentarily forgotten his existence. Oops.

"Of course, Ivan."

Well, damn.

This was going to be even more complicated than he thought.

* * *

**Dro: **This story is about to get a lot more awkward.

**Next Chapter: **Ivan gives Alfred a warning and an ultimatum. Alfred finally gets a real reunion with Arthur and Matthew.


	27. Of Alarm & Leniency

**Dro:** -yawn- Sunday is such a lazy day. Bah. Anyway, do enjoy. This arc of the story is rather short due to something that happens in a few chapters. So, do read and **review**, please! I want your predictions!

**Chapter Summary: **Ivan gives Alfred two choices. Then Alfred finally has that reunion he's been waiting for.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro is finishing up her freshman year in college. Do you honestly think she had enough money to purchase the rights to APH?

* * *

Ivan dragged him outside to the front porch and practically pushed him into one of the chairs. He could sense the Russian towering over him, trapping him in place. He swallowed, apprehensive, wondering just what it was Ivan wanted to say to him. He expected a thinly veiled threat or some vindictive teasing, as that seemed to be how Ivan typically got his way. What he was not expecting was for the massive Russia to grab his chin roughly and hold his head in place at an awkward angle, leaning in dangerously close. For a brief moment, Alfred had an intense fear that Ivan had somehow found out about his recurring dream. Thankfully, that fear faded when the man started to speak. Unfortunately, what he said was probably worse.

"I do not think you are knowing what you do, American boy. Who are you to be giving me orders? Who are you to defy me? Hm? You are weak and injured. And yet, you continue to act so arrogant, as if I should listen to every word you are saying." He gripped Alfred's chin harder. "I am going to give you an ultimatum, Alfred." He leaned closer, his breath rushing past Alfred's ear. Alfred tried his best not to blush. Ivan was _too_ close. Way too close.

"Y-yeah…and…what is it?"

Ivan chuckled, the sound reverberating in his ear. He shuddered. "Tomorrow morning. 9:00 AM. You make your choice, da?"

"And…what are my choices?"

"I leave you and your family here. You find your own way home. I take the officer with me."

Alfred growled under his breath. "No." There was no way he was leaving Ludwig here.

Ivan hummed, amused. "I was expecting such a response. Then you are choosing option two, da?"

Alfred bared his teeth. "That depends. What is option two?"

"You come with me."

Alfred furrowed his brows. "And…?"

"And I help you get home. Simple as that. The choice is not being about the SS officer. The choice is being about you. You are being a burden to me, American boy. But you amuse me the same. I could leave you here in Germany and let the Nazis have their way with you. Or I can take you with me back east. Your choice."

Back east. To Russia. Alfred was torn. In Germany, they were close to France. If they could just get back past the front lines, they'd be home free. But if they went the other way, if they went east, they'd not only have to get past the Western front, but then they'd be in Russia. Russia! How would they get out of Russia? Alfred knew better than to trust Ivan. The man could very well have no intention at all of sending them home. He could just be playing them. If that was the case, then the latter choice was insane. It was too big a risk. But Ludwig…Going with Ivan meant staying with Ludwig, at least until Ivan got him to…wherever he was taking him. He was thoroughly surprised that Ivan hadn't started interrogating him already. Then again, it was likely that a spy like Ivan would take a captured officer elsewhere for interrogation.

What did he do? What _could_ he do? He couldn't abandon Ludwig, but how he could justify dragging his family across Nazi Germany and into Russia? He tore his chin form Ivan's grasp and sank lower into the chair, sighing.

"Ah, it is not being so easy a choice now, is it, American boy?"

The logical choice was the logical choice was the logical choice. But Alfred had never been a very logical person. And he was no different now than he'd always been in that department.

"I'll go with you."

Ivan seemed taken aback. "You are choosing so quickly?"

"It's not a hard decision." He rose to his feet, ignoring Ivan's close proximity.

"Isn't it?"

Not when he was bent on saving everyone he cared about. Not when he had an immeasurable debt he owed to Ludwig. He purposefully took a step closer and leaned up until his nose brushed Ivan's. He could feel the man tense, feel him staring right down at him. "No, it isn't." He pushed Ivan away and walked past him, feeling along the wall until he found the door. As the door was closing behind him, Ivan started laughing. Alfred could've sworn he heard him say something, but he couldn't make out a single word.

* * *

After confirming that Toris and Ivan wouldn't be torturing Ludwig, who was still tied to his chair, Alfred retreated upstairs with Matthew and Arthur to the room he'd been given and locked the door behind them. He turned to the face the brother and cousin that, for a long time, he hadn't been sure he'd ever see again.

"Matt…" His brother suddenly lunged at him, trapping him in a firm hug. It wasn't rough. Mattie had always been conscious of his injuries, even when they were much younger. "Hey, Matt…it's okay." He hugged his brother back, burying his face in Matt's shoulder. He was vaguely aware that Mattie was crying, and for once, he was happy for the gauze that was covering his eyes. Because he was doing the same.

When Mattie finally let him go, his body was replaced by Arthur, who's embrace was more stiff and wary. Just the way he remembered. He let Arthur hug him for nearly a full minute. It was surreal. Just having them here. Alfred was afraid this was just another one of his crazy dreams. He needed to let the moment sink in. When he and Arthur finally parted, the three men found themselves at a loss. Where did they start? There was much to discuss, so much to catch up on.

"So, how have you two been?" It was the lamest question he possibly could have asked, but they needed to start somewhere, right?

Arthur was the one to take up the challenge. "Personally, I've been bloody terrible. I can't speak for Matthew, but I'm sure he's been the same. Am I right?"

"Yeah. That pretty much sums it up."

"Oh." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry…"

"What? You sodding git!" In the past Arthur would have hit him, but it seemed even Arthur was deeply affected by Alfred's injuries, and the best he got was a hand ruffling his hair. "Don't you dare apologize! None of this is your fault."

Alfred sighed. "Maybe not, but that doesn't stop me from feeling guilty. You two…you _deserted_ for me. Even if we manage to escape from Germany, how will we...how will you two…"

"Don't worry, we both staged it to look like we were killed in action. We'll spin some kind of story about being captured or something." Matthew offered. "Don't worry about it, Alfred. Right now, we just need to worry about getting out of here."

"That door locked?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah."

"Let's go out the window then."

"Whoa! Stop! No." Alfred raised his hands. "We're not leaving without Ludwig."

"Alfred—"

"End of discussion, Arthur. He saved my life. He's been risking himself since day one to nurse me back to health. We are _not_ leaving him here."

"And what exactly are we supposed to do about the Russians?"

Alfred was tempted to point out that only one of them was Russian, but he figured Arthur was already irritated enough. "We'll figure something out. At some point, Ivan will let his guard down. That's when we'll strike."

"…Fine. Have it your way. But do you honestly think that Russian bastard will be so easy to fool?"

"No. In fact, it will probably be the hardest thing to pull off that I've ever attempted in my entire life. But that doesn't matter. What matters is rescuing Ludwig. And to do that, we need to lie low and play Ivan's game for a while."

Arthur's "suspicion switch" apparently flicked on. "And what exactly does this 'game' entail?"

And here came the hard part. "Well…um…not much. We just stick with him for a while."

"And go where?"

Oh, he was caught. "Well, Ivan is heading…back to Russia." The last three words zipped by in a blur of sound.

"W…what did you just say? Did you just say he's going _back to Russia?_ Alfred, we are _not_ going to Russia! France is _right there_. Why the hell would we go to Russia?"

"Because that's where Ivan's going, and Ivan has Ludwig tied to a chair in the kitchen. Deal with it. And I didn't say _we_ were going to Russia, just heading there and playing along until we have an opportunity to get Ludwig out of his clutches. _Then_ we can about face and head back to France. Sound good?"

Arthur huffed. "No, it sounds _terrible_."

"Well, that's too bad because that's what I'm doing."

"And what if we disagree?"

"Well, then I suppose I'll see you back in the States some day. Or maybe in London. Who knows?"

Arthur balked. "You…you would _leave_ us? Again?"

"I know _you're_ safe. And I know that if you could get into Germany, then you can certainly get out. You two are smart and skilled. You would make it out just fine. Ludwig, on the other hand, is in a really bad position right now, and he needs help. You, of all people, should know that I'm a loyal person, Arthur. And I will _not_, under any circumstances, abandon the man that saved my life. And if you don't like that, then you are free to walk out that door, out of this house, and back toward France. I'm not stopping you, and neither is Ivan."

The room was completely silent for several minutes.

"I'm staying." Matthew whispered.

"Matthew…" Arthur started, but he couldn't seem to find the rest of the words. "…Fine. Fine, I'll stay."

Alfred felt horrible. He didn't want to force their hands, but he knew perfectly well that neither Arthur nor Matthew would abandon him again. They had found him, and they weren't leaving, no matter what he decided to do. He wrung his hands.

Then he had a sudden revelation.

"Wait…guys, where's Gilbert? You met him too, right? Ludwig's brother?"

There was no answer.

"Guys?"

Matthew found his voice first. "Al…um…you see, before…_Ivan_…found us, we were executing a plan to escape from this town. You see, Ludwig and Gilbert were ordered to help capture us because the SS were out looking for us…"

"Wait, that was _you?_" Alfred almost smacked himself in the head. _Of course_ it had been them. How had he not put that together?

"Yeah, it was…and, well, after we ran into them and we realized who each of us was…we decided on a plan to…escape. You see, we…we made it look like the brothers were still loyal to the SS by having them hand us over to the other officers, and then Ludwig and Gilbert set a fire on the house they were using as a base. Arthur and I were equipped to escape from our bindings, but…but some things didn't go as planned."

"…and…?"

"Well…Ludwig and Gilbert ended up having to come in to help us escape, and Gilbert and I were trapped on the second floor. He…he made escape through the window…and he stayed behind to fight the advancing officers…"

"…" Alfred's thoughts were starting to jumble up. "And?"

"And then there was an explosion. Gas caught fire or something. The house was destroyed…With Gilbert inside."

"He's dead?" The words sounded foreign on his lips.

"Probably. They were just starting to search the rubble when Ivan caught us. But…the house was _gone_, Al. Nothing but ashes and debris. There was no way that he could have…"

"I'm sorry, Alfred." Arthur offered.

But he could offer all he had to his name, and it would make any difference. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Ludwig was normally stoic and silent, but not _that_ silent. He was probably sitting in that chair lost somewhere in his mind, completely torn apart by Gilbert's death. Alfred still didn't know what events of Ludwig's past had lead the officer to saving his life, but he did know that Ludwig had lost someone important. And that it had happened in some kind of fire-related incident. And now Ludwig had lost his own brother in a similar situation.

"Oh, God…" This situation had just become ten times worse. No, one hundred. No, a million. No…none of those were even close. Gilbert was _dead_. He covered his face with his hands. Gilbert, who could light up a room just by walking into it. Gilbert, who was both teasing and kind. Gilbert, who would give the world for his little brother.

And once again, Alfred wondered just what the hell God was doing up in heaven right now. Because he certainly wasn't over anyone on Earth.

* * *

**Dro: **Aw, a sad ending to the reunion. Oh wells.

**Next Chapter: **The groups begin the journey east. Tensions begin to rise. Arthur begins to have strange feelings about Matthew. Matthew can't figure out his feelings at all. And Alfred is caught between his brother, his cousin, a captured SS officer, and a Russian spy. Poor guy. His life is so complicated.


	28. Of Contemplation & Distress

**Dro: **Word to the wise: do not go to sleep at 5:00 AM. You will not wake up until 1:30 PM. I learned this the hard way. Anyway, please do read and **review**! This chapter is the beginning of the really complicated stuff.

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur contemplates the situation. Matthew finally cracks. Alfred is caught in the middle.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro does not own APH. If she did, the art wouldn't be nearly as good, considering she can't really draw...

* * *

Arthur grumbled under his breath. He couldn't believe he'd let the situation get this far out of control. He had finally found Alfred…after they'd been captured by a goddamned Russian spy. This was _not_ the way he'd imagined this happening. And if it wasn't bad enough that they'd been captured originally, they were now _willingly_ going along with this man in order to free an _SS officer_. The bitter irony of this situation was not lost on him. If he'd had his way, they'd be back near the French border by now. But no, instead, they were heading in the opposite direction, toward a god-forsaken tundra that Arthur had long vowed to never visit.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to escape this situation. Because Alfred wanted it. He wanted what was best for Alfred, and he was pretty sure this wasn't it, but he couldn't override Alfred's desires. The boy was too passionate, too loyal. And Arthur was helpless to deny him what he wanted. Especially now. Alfred had lost enough. Just seeing his body like it was made Arthur feel sick. So how he could possibly tell Alfred "no"? It just wasn't feasible. He heart wouldn't allow him to do it. So instead of making the logical choice and going back the way they came, they were heading to Russia with Ludwig in tow.

Arthur desperately hoped that Alfred had some idea of how he was going to get them out of this mess. Waiting for the Russian's guard to be down was too far-fetched. Ivan who-ever-he-was was built like a tank, and he seemed to be just as smart and cunning as he was massive. But it wasn't even the man's bulk or intelligence that scared him. It was that gleam of malice in his those off-blue eyes that seemed to shine a dastardly violet even in the most innocent of light. He dared to steal a glance at the man, who was sitting on the opposite end of the backseat. His large fingers were tapping on the window, his eyes narrowed in thought. The look sent chills down Arthur's spine. Even simple things like thinking seem malevolent when done by this man.

This situation was far too dangerous in Arthur's opinion. He peered at the silent, brooding German next to him. Then again, they were doing this for the man that had saved Alfred's life. Even he couldn't deny that Ludwig deserved help. He may have been SS, but he certainly wasn't a monster. And after losing his brother like that…Arthur sighed inwardly. This was all one big mistake. His mind kept telling him that over and over and over. But he refused to listen to it. He would push his rational side away as long as it was what Alfred wanted. At this point, he would give Alfred the world if the boy asked for it.

Alfred and Matthew sat up front, Alfred near the window. Matthew was fidgeting in his seat, stealing glances at the man called Toris. He wondered what was going in his other boy's head. He hadn't had the chance to speak to Matthew privately in a long while. The last time they'd really been able to talk had been their trek through the woods, where Matthew had seemed to avoid conversation at all costs. He wanted to beat his head against a wall. He had never found out just what wrong with the boy, and now he wouldn't have another chance to do so for who knew how long.

Matthew had been through so much at this point. Arthur was afraid he was falling apart on the inside and was just too stubborn to say anything about it. He vowed that he would catch the boy alone as soon as possible. They really needed to talk. _He_ needed to talk to Matthew. He was at his wit's end now. He was frustrated and tired and he felt ten years older than he actually was. He just needed to let it all out to someone, and Matthew, ever the more rational and understanding of the brothers—despite his insane drive to march right into Nazi territory to save his brother—was the person he had usually done that with in the past. He remembered when he'd lost a man in a training accident that had nearly cost him an arm. He'd been on leave for nearly four months and had gone to America to the see boys. Matthew had been the one to console him, the one to assuage his fears and relieve the immense weight on his heart. Alfred had tried his best, but he wasn't Matthew.

Matthew had something…special about him, about the way he could connect with other people. He couldn't deny that Alfred had something similar, but they were two different sides of the coin. Matthew's slow-burning warmth and compassion drew you in and kept you safe while Alfred's raging fire and ambition compelled you to walk right into the flames. Truly, they were twins in every sense but blood.

After nearly an entire day on the road—surprisingly without coming across any patrols—Toris pulled into a long gravel driveway with an old farmhouse sitting at the end of it. As they filed out the vehicle, Ivan hauling a still silent (and bound) Ludwig along toward the doorway, a man met them at the door. He was blond and of moderate build, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"I wasn't expecting all this." His eyes scanned the group. "Who are all these people, Ivan?"

"Guests." Ivan answered simply as he forced Ludwig through the threshold. He paused just before he entered and leaned close to the other man. "Guests that you need to make sure do _not_ release my prisoner."

The blonde man did not look amused, and he rolled his eyes. "Typical. Very well." He held up his hand and ushered them inside. "Come on in then." Arthur got the distinct feeling that this wasn't the first time Ivan had brought along unwanted "guests." The house was fairly bare inside, and Arthur could tell it was just a temporary base. He wondered how extensive this little spy network of theirs was. Then again, his own people had a spy network here somewhere too, no doubt, just like every nation probably had spies in enemy territory.

The blonde man led them up the stairs and motioned at the rooms. "Some of you will have to double up, I'm afraid."

Arthur glanced at Matthew, who nodded. The blond man shrugged his shoulders. "The last door on the left is my room. You can have any of the others you'd like." He made to head back down the stairs, but paused. "Ah, I'll have some food ready soon. You're all probably hungry. I doubt Ivan really let you stop on the way."

Arthur nodded. "By the way, what's your name?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "British, huh?" He shook his head. "Well, Ivan sure knows how to make things complicated, doesn't he?" He sighed. "I'm Eduard." He continued back down the stairs and turned the corner into the kitchen.

* * *

It had been slightly irritating at first. But now it was just plain uncomfortable. He dared to steal a glance around the table, but he quickly averted his eyes again. He definitely wasn't imagining things. _Everyone_ was staring at him. Not at the same time, oh no, but they all were at some point. Arthur was doing it the most, followed by—god forbid—Ivan. Even the rather timid Toris seemed to be staring at him intermittently. Matthew groaned to himself. Was he really all that interesting?

He had thought at first that perhaps they were just comparing him to Alfred, which was normal when someone found out that, no, they weren't actually twins. But this had gone too far for that. Arthur's deep green eyes were just about boring holes through his head. Ivan had a hint of a smile on his lips. Alfred, of course, was completely oblivious to the whole silent exchange. He was thankful that the other man, Eduard, wasn't at the table (and instead on "Ludwig guard duty"). He didn't think he could handle anymore staring.

Finally, when he was finished eating, he practically bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs, nearly slamming the door to his temporary room behind him. He dreaded Arthur returning to it. It hadn't seemed like such bad idea at the time, rooming with Arthur, but as soon they'd been left alone together, all the embarrassing memories he had about his feelings for the man came rushing back. He had hoped to find a way to suppress those feelings, but nothing worked. Gilbert had been a brief distraction from them, but now Gilbert was…was…gone…and he was right back where he started.

Gilbert. He still couldn't get the image out of his head. The kiss stood out in his mind like a bright bulb. He found himself blushing again. Why had Gilbert had to go and do that? Now he was even more confused than he'd been when he'd just been having humiliating dreams about himself and Arthur. His mind absently compared Gilbert's kiss to the one he'd forced on Arthur, and Matthew pressed a pillow to his face, groaning loudly into it. _Stop it! Stupid brain! Just stop it!_ It wasn't right to be thinking about men like this at all. And it certainly wasn't right to think of a dead man this way.

"Matthew, are you all right?"

Oh, speak of the devil. "I'm fine, Arthur. Just tired." He rolled over, facing the wall. He didn't want Arthur to see his flushed his face. He didn't want to raise those uncomfortable questions.

"You sound a lot more than tired." And, of course, Arthur wouldn't let it go. The mattress creaked as he sat down on its edge, and Matthew tried his best not to cry out in frustration. Why couldn't Arthur just stay away from him? He bit his lip as Arthur coaxed him back into a sitting position. He refused to look at the older man, and he heard Arthur sigh. "Matthew, please tell what's wrong. I've been watching you for some time, and you…you just look…I don't know how to explain it. It seems like there's something on your mind, something heavy on your shoulders. I just want you to remember that I'm here for you, no matter what it is."

Matthew wanted laugh at the hypocrisy of that statement. If Arthur actually knew what was going on, he would recoil in disgust. He would call Matthew the worst names imaginable, shun him, disown him from their little patchwork family. Arthur would _hate_ him if he told the truth.

"It's not something I can talk to you about."

"Matthew, you can talk to you about anything." Arthur smiled at him.

Something inside him snapped. He threw the pillow to the floor and leaned over, sealing his lips over Arthur's. Arthur went rigid, his green eyes wide. Matthew let his own flutter close, relishing the kiss he knew he'd probably never have again. He worked his lips against Arthur's, trapping the man's bottom lip and biting it softly. He pressed harder, deepening the kiss. Arthur's jaw was locked shut, and Matthew could go no further. Reluctantly, he pulled away and slowly opened his eyes.

Arthur was staring at him in sheer horror.

_I knew it. _There went their entire relationship. Gone. Shattered in a single moment. He felt tears sting his eyes. Arthur said nothing. He didn't have to. Matthew could guess every word the man would say. He hauled his shaking body across the room and out the door, rushing toward the room that Alfred had all to himself. He threw open the door and slammed it behind him. Alfred shot up from the bed.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." His voice cracked.

"Matt? What's wrong? You sound like you're crying."

He stumbled across the room and sank down onto Alfred's bed, barely suppressing his sobs. "I…can I stay here tonight?"

"O-of course! Matt, what happened?"

Matthew let himself go, and he felt into Alfred's chest, choking sob's into Alfred's shirt. Alfred held him tightly, rubbing circles into his back. Alfred kept asking him what was wrong, but he couldn't muster a reply. How could have been so stupid? How could he have ruined his entire relationship with Arthur just like that? He was a fool, a sick, disgusting fool. Arthur would hate him now. Arthur would fear him, be disgusted in his presence. He cried harder, and Alfred sighed.

"It's okay, Matt. Whatever it is, it'll be okay."

_If only you knew, Al. If only you knew._

* * *

**Dro: **Oh no, what happens next? Hm, I wonder...

**Next Chapter: **Arthur refuses to speak to Matthew, causing him to break down further. Alfred finally gets a moment alone to talk to Ludwig. Matthew, in his distress, notices something about Ivan that distresses him even more. _  
_


	29. Of Sorrow & Neglect

**Dro: **Wow, I wrote really slowly today...Just one of those days, you know? Anyway, major revelation in this chapter! And the next chapter is sure to be a shocker. So, have it! And do **review** please!

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew is distressed by Arthur's behavior toward him (or lack thereof). He is even more distressed by Ivan's behavior toward Alfred. Alfred, on the other hand, is distressed at the apparent argument Matthew and Arthur are having, so he decides to take his mind off it by finally having a private reunion with Ludwig. Only, it doesn't go so well...

**Warnings: **Language; Mentions of Past Violence; Homophobia

**Disclaimer: **Dro just ordered seasons 3 and 4 of Stargate SG-1. By the end of the summer, I will probably have no money left at all and definitely not enough to buy APH. That is assuming I'm alive at the end of the summer, which I may not be if my parents find out I keep blowing about $70 on DVDs every couple weeks...

* * *

Arthur would not speak to him. Matthew could understand that, to some degree, of course. After all, he'd done something that, by most people's standards, was disgusting and wrong. But what really broke his heart even further was the fact that Arthur would not even acknowledge his existence. He wouldn't look at him. At all. He seemed to be pretending that Matthew was either invisible or had never even been born. And that hurt him far more than the silence.

Alfred instantly picked up on the lack of interaction between them, but Matthew refused to say anything about the incident, and he knew Arthur wouldn't dare to speak of it. Now, their stubbornness to reveal what had happened had negatively affected Alfred, who was refusing to speak to either of them until they solved whatever argument they'd had. Which made for a quiet and lonely day, seeing as Matthew knew better than to even attempt to speak to Arthur.

He sat in Alfred's room for most of the day, silent and brooding. He really couldn't understand why he'd snapped and gone and done something that stupid. He'd probably just ruined their family forever because he couldn't hold himself back from his disgusting homosexual urges. He pressed his forehead against the window, sighing. How had everything managed to go so wrong for him in such a short amount of time? They may have been in a war before, but this…this was unbearable. He was watching the makeshift family they'd worked so hard to build fall apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Because he was one of the majors reasons why it was happening in the first place.

"Ah, Mr. Matthew?"

He stiffened. "Yes?"

"Dinner is ready."

He wasn't particularly hungry, but he wasn't foolish. Even in this emotional state he still needed to keep his energy up. They were still on a mission to free Ludwig and escape back to France. He owed it to Alfred after all his brother had been through. So he shakily rose to his feet and followed Toris down the stairs, slinking into a seat at the table as far from Arthur as he could manage. Alfred was impatiently tapping his fingers on the table and sighing every few seconds. Matthew could picture his eyes now, darting back and forth from him to Arthur, partly angry, partly confused, partly worried. This wasn't the first time there'd been an argument in their little family. But it was the first time that something had threatened to break it apart permanently.

_Everyone_ seemed to notice it too. The man called Eduard looked at him nervously, his eyes alight with sympathy. Toris looked the same before he wandered off to go feed Ludwig. Ivan looked _amused_ and dismissive, and Matthew had the urge to punch him in the face. Ludwig, of course, was not present at the table, but Matthew figured he too would notice something was up if he had been. It was just too obvious. The familial love between them just the other day seemed to have vanished overnight, and Matthew wouldn't be surprised if it never returned, at least between him and Arthur.

Arthur only ate for about five minutes before excusing himself. Matthew already had no appetite, but he tried his best to force the food down. Eventually, however, the atmosphere became to heavy, and he couldn't stomach anymore. He excused himself politely and began to quickly head out of the room. Just as he was turning the corner, he noticed something that chilled him to the bone. Ivan was staring at Alfred. It wasn't with malice or even with the man's usual amusement. No, it was something else. Something _predatory_.

He briskly shuffled away from the kitchen, hating to leave his brother in the clutches of a Russian monster but knowing he didn't really have any other choice. He could only hope that Eduard's presence in the kitchen prevented Ivan from acting on…whatever it was he wanted to do from Alfred. A few ideas flitted through his mind, and he gagged, hoping to God that none of them were the right one. They _had_ to get out of here. Soon. Very soon. Matthew feared what would happen to all of them if they stayed around this man too long. They knew little to nothing about the Russian. Only that he was dangerous and cunning.

He shivered as he closed the door to Alfred's room behind him. He doubted he would be moving back into Arthur's room any time soon. Of course, they wouldn't be here too much longer anyway. Ivan had told them they'd be leaving in a few days, as soon as he received a response from his superiors. He'd apparently sent out a message about Ludwig. Ludwig. What were they going to do about Ludwig? They could just try to break him out the old fashioned way and make a run for it, but he doubted they'd make it out the front door. Their best option was probably to try and escape when they were traveling. If they could get to a population center, they would be much better off.

He let himself fall back on Alfred's bed and pressed the pillow over his face. He really didn't need all this stress. He was going to be old and gray by the time he was thirty at this rate. That is, of course, if he lived to be thirty.

* * *

Alfred sat his fork down. It was no use trying to eat. He had been worrying all day about Mattie and Arthur, and he just wasn't hungry. Something was very wrong with his brother and cousin, but he had no clue what it could be. He'd been terrified the night before when Matt had come crying into his room. At first, he'd thought his brother had been hurt, and he'd immediately thought Ivan had done something to him. But before he could ask Ivan about it the next morning, he'd run into a strangely quiet and solemn Arthur, who absolutely refused to interact with Matthew at all. So something had obviously happened between them. But what? What could they possibly be arguing about?

He shook his head. He really needed to take his mind off this, and he knew the perfect way to so. "Ivan, is it okay if I go talk to Ludwig?"

"Hm? Of course it is." Alfred could _feel_ that damn smile.

"Alone?"

"Well…I suppose if Toris or Eduard is posted outside the door, then yes, that's fine. Just don't stay in there too long. We might start thinking you're plotting an escape attempt." He chuckled.

"I'm not stupid, Ivan."

"So you say." He mocked. "Well, go on then."

Alfred rose from the table and headed toward the room where Ivan had locked up Ludwig. Toris, who had just returned, switched directions and accompanied him, no doubt by Ivan's silent order. Toris led him into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with Ludwig. He heard no sound at first, and he wondered if Ludwig was asleep. But then he heard the squeaking of a mattress, and a surprised voice sounded off in one corner of the room.

"Alfred? What are you doing here?"

Ludwig sounded _terrible_. There was no other word for it. His voice was dull and hoarse. Alfred could imagine him now, hair tousled and unkempt, uniform ruffled and wrinkled, eyes ringed in red from tears and lined with dark purple bags. That was what his voice sounded like. Like he was a mess. Alfred immediately strode across the room, so fast he almost toppled over when his knees his the mattress. Ludwig braced his fall with one hand, guiding him down into a sitting position.

"Thanks." Alfred whispered.

Ludwig made no response.

Swallowing his nervousness, Alfred asked, "Are…are you okay, Ludwig?"

Ludwig was silent for several moments, and Alfred wasn't sure he was going to reply. But then, "No. I do not think I am."

"Ludwig, I swear I'm going to get you out of here." He felt for Ludwig's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "No matter what."

"Personally, I am not sure I want to be set free."

"W-what?"

"What do I have to return to? I will be questioned by my superiors. They will be suspicious of me. And even if I am released from all suspicion, I have little left to return to. My family is broken now. My brother was the closest one in this world to me. And now he too is gone."

"L-Ludwig, you don't mean that. You can't! Do you honestly think Gilbert would want you to waste away like this?"

"No. He would not. But he is not here to stop me from doing so. That is the point."

"Ludwig…no. Don't think like that. You have your whole life ahead of you." Ludwig started to speak but Alfred cut him off him. "And don't tell me it's not worth it. _I've_ been sitting here for weeks wondering if _my_ life was even worth living, and you know what got me through my doubt? You and Gilbert. The moment you two were gone, I started doubting myself again. But…but I've realized that it doesn't matter if you two are physically here or not. Because what you did for me still resonates within me. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead, Ludwig. And even though...even though I'm still scarred and blinded and unsure about where I'm going in life, I'm grateful that I _have _a life I can live. So don't _you_, of all people, who gave me a second chance at life, tell me that life isn't worth living."

Ludwig was crying.

"Ludwig…"

"It hurts. I have been sitting here just having flashbacks all damn day. About Gilbert. About Roderich. About…"

"Roderich?"

"Yes. Ah, right…I never told you about Roderich. He was my cousin."

Alfred had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. "And…he died in a fire, right?"

"Yes. Because of me."

"I don't understand." He found Ludwig's hand and gripped it tightly.

"Of course not. Gilbert always tried to tell me that it wasn't my fault, you know? But I don't even think he believed what he was saying. I don't even think he _forgave_ me. I think he just pretended he did because he still loved me as his brother. Because he saw he saw how much it was tearing me apart. Because there is no way that it was not my fault. The entire fire was my fault. Him being trapped inside was my fault."

"Roderich, you mean?"

"Yes."

Alfred wanted to ask the question, but he was afraid Ludwig would break down even further. So he just leaned over and pressed his head against Ludwig's shoulder, lacing their fingers together. Ludwig stiffened, but he didn't pull away.

"It was two years ago." Ludwig began slowly. "My cousin, Roderich, married a woman named Elizaveta, a Hungarian. They were very happy together." He voice shook. "But, as time went on, it became clear that Elizaveta was a…dissenter?...from the Nazi party. She criticized their policies, openly at first, and later in secret with a small group of like-minded people. They began to try to convince others to join, including myself and Gilbert."

Here, he paused, and Alfred immediately saw where this was going. "They were found out?"

"They were. The Gestapo came in the dead of the night to try and arrest her. They weren't going to take Roderich, but…at some point…well…Elizaveta did not go quietly. There was a skirmish. Some shots were fired. And…at some point…a fire started. It quickly burned out of control and trapped Roderich, Elizaveta, and several Gestapo agents inside. They all died. All of them. Burned alive."

"Ludwig…that…I'm so sorry." He pressed his face harder into Ludwig's shoulder. "But, that…that doesn't sound like it was your fault, Ludwig. It just sounds like…"

"No! It _was_ my fault. It was all my fault. All of it! They died because of me. Elizaveta died because of me! Roderich died because of me!" He was starting to get hysterical.

"Ludwig, it wasn't your fault!"

"Yes, it was!"

"How?"

"Because I'm the one that turned her in!"

* * *

**Dro: **And there you have it, friends. That is what actually happened. (Don't worry. It gets expanded later. I promise.)

**Next Chapter: **Arthur and Matthew have a confrontation that ultimately leads the latter to make a dangerous decision in order to protect his brother.


	30. Of Sacrifice & Apathy

**Dro: **Prepare for a bit of a shocker at the end of this chapter. This story is about to heat up. A lot. But please do keep the **reviews** flowing! And if you missed the latest chapter of **In the Shadow of Wonderland** due to the FF error (that cause the chapter to vanish after several hours of being available yesterday), I do believe it is back up now. I noticed I got less than reviews than usual, and I was stumped until I had a reader PM me about the error. Kind of hard to review what isn't there, huh? -sighs- FF, why can't you keep the site straight for more than a month at a time?

**Chapter Summary: **After an attempt to repair his relationship with Arthur goes wrong, Matthew puts himself in the line of fire and makes a dangerous decision.

**Warnings: **Homophobia, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH guys. Unfortunately, the star said my wish to much to grant.

* * *

Matthew awoke to the view of a ceiling speckled with peeling paint. At first, he was slightly confused as to why he had slept on his back. That was a rare occurrence. Then, he was even more perplexed as to why he was on a bed. Hadn't he been sleeping in Al's room, which only had one bed? He slowly sat up and scanned the room. It was definitely the one that Al was staying in, which meant…His eyes trailed to the floor, where Alfred was sprawled out on a comforter. Guilt. God damn it! He wanted to smack himself. He'd let his emotions get the best of him and had ended up forcing his injured brother to sleep on the fucking floor! What a wonderful brother he was!

He slipped out of bed and sighed, peering down at Al's prone form. If he thought he could have moved him without waking him up, he would have, but he seriously doubted that Al was the ridiculously heavy sleeper he used to be. Even when they were back on leave, he'd noticed Alfred had been sleeping lighter than he had before the war. He imagined that problem had likely worsened at this point. He tiptoed across the room and out the door, closing it gently behind him, and headed to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He'd been surprised to find that such an old place had been equipped with a shower fixture—hell, they didn't have one in their home in the US—but he was happy to let the warmth of a shower wash away his worries, at least for the moment. He knew as soon he emerged from the steam that reality would slap him in the face again. He wasn't sure how many more days he could stand like this, with Arthur refusing to talk to him and Alfred worried about them both. And then there was Ivan to worry about. No, to be _terrified_ about. Matthew wasn't sure what exactly Ivan wanted with his brother, but he'd had plenty of horrifying ideas run through his mind the night before.

He jumped as there was a knock on the door. He turned off the shower quickly and hopped out, wrapping a towel around himself and gathering up his clothes. He shuffled over to the door and opened it quickly, revealing Arthur standing on the other side. They both froze. Arthur eyes roved over his body quickly, and Matthew felt his face begin to flush. This was the last way he wanted Arthur to see him now, dripping wet and wearing only a towel. Why, of all the people in this house, did it have to be him?

Arthur's demeanor quickly changed, and he scowled. "I need to use the facilities, if you don't mind?"

That harsh demand snapped him out of his thoughts. "Uh…of course." He pulled open the door the rest of the way open and quickly exited, cringing as Arthur slammed the bathroom door behind him. That was the first thing Arthur had said to him since he'd kissed him the other day. Apparently, his anger had yet to fizzle out. And for all Matthew knew, it never would. He was still convinced Arthur was going to hate him for the rest of his life.

When he closed the door to Alfred's room, he was surprised to find his brother awake. Al was sitting on his bed, legs crossed, hand pressed against the window, where bright light was now streaming through. He turned his head in Matthew's direction. "That you, Matt?"

"Uh, yeah, it's me."

"Where'd you go? Isn't it a little early for breakfast?"

Matthew seriously wondered how his brother could possibly know the time, but he decided that was a mystery he would have to solve later. He had more important things to worry about at the moment. "Oh, I decided to bathe. Or shower actually."

"They have a shower? Really?" Al chuckled. "Ivan really likes his modern amenities, huh?"

Matthew sighed. "Seems that way." He wanted to warn Al. He really did. But he was afraid of scaring his brother. That was something Al didn't need right now (or ever again). He would handle this whole Ivan thing on his own. He would whole the Arthur thing on his own. There. It was settled.

"Are you and Arthur talking again?"

Matthew bit his lip. "Not really…" He mumbled.

"You ever going to tell me what happened?"

Matthew dropped his rumpled clothing on the floor. "I…It's really not something I'm comfortable talking about, Al."

"Is there anything you can tell me? I'm really starting to get scared here. I'm worried about you. _And_ Arthur, for that matter."

Matthew didn't want to lie to Al. About anything. They'd been open and truthful with each other for as long as he could remember. But this was something else. This was a situation that needed to be addressed carefully. If he screwed this up, he could ruin their family. Hell, he probably already had. He started drying himself off and putting his clothes back on. He'd never been shy about his body around Al, not even when his brother could see.

"I know, Al. I know you are. It's just…I messed up, okay? I did something really stupid, and Arthur is mad at me for a good reason."

Alfred pursed his lips. "Matt, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me truthfully, got it?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Do you like Arthur?"

"What do you mean?" He turned to face his brother again as he toweled off his hair.

"You know what I mean, Matt. Do you like Arthur _that_ way?"

The toweled fell to the floor. Matthew stared at his brother, his mouth hanging open. "I…I…but…you…"

"So you do, then?" Alfred shook his head. "Well, now it all makes sense. Let me guess, you told him and now's he mad?"

"I…you…worse than that." His face burned. Well, if Al had already figured out how disgusting his little brother was, he supposed he might just as well throw the kicker into the mix. "I kissed him."

Alfred's "o"-shaped mouth told the whole story.

Matthew turned his back on Alfred, wrapping his arms around himself and waiting for the onslaught of hateful comments. But they never came.

"Well, I'm sure he'll come around. You know how he is."

Matthew was stunned. "Um, this…doesn't bother you?"

"What, you liking other men?" Alfred waved his hand dismissively. "Nope. Not one bit." He smiled. "What, did you think I was going to hate for it, Mattie? Come on, you know me better than that!"

Matthew felt himself tear him up, and he tried to stifle a sob. Alfred inhaled quickly. "Mattie, are you crying again?" He rose from the bed and made a beeline for his brother, his lack of sight not impairing him at all. Matthew let Alfred hold him. "Sh, Mattie. It's okay. I promise. At the end of all this, it's all going to be okay. You'll see. Arthur _will_ come around eventually. And if he doesn't, then I'll make him. The man can be an ill-tempered ass all he wants, but he still loves you and he still loves me, and he knows that. He's not stupid enough to break away from his closest kin over something like this."

"But if he's disgusted with me, Al? It's what he's acting like!"

Alfred rubbed his back gently. "I imagine he's a little shocked and confused, but disgusted? I think you're just overestimating Artie's abilities a bit. He's a bit of a bastard, sure, but he's not cruel by a long shot. Tell me, have _you _tried to talking to _him_ since it happened?"

"Well, I…"

"Exactly. See, here's what you need to do: just _talk_ to him. Go to his room and sit down with him and talk."

"What if he won't talk to me?"

Alfred chuckled. "I didn't say he had to talk back, Matt."

Matthew couldn't help but smile at that.

* * *

Matthew sat beneath an old tree, arms wrapped around himself. He'd cried as much as he could cry, but it still didn't seem to enough. Arthur's words reverberated in his mind, and he felt that ache in his heart again. Alfred had been wrong. Arthur hadn't come around. Arthur hadn't accepted him at all. Arthur had outright said he was disgusted, outright told Matthew to stay the hell from him. It had hurt even worse than his initial rejection, hurt to his core to know what Arthur really thought about him.

If it hadn't been for Al's presence, Matthew was sure he would have killed himself from the shame alone. But as it stood, he had a brother to save, even if his cousin hated him throughout the entire venture. He struggled to his feet and started walking back toward the house. He'd missed dinner. Not that he could bring himself to care at all. He had no appetite whatsoever, just a dull ache in his chest and a pit in his stomach and a hazy mind that was riddled with ten tons of emotions that he could barely grasp the meanings of.

Eduard was sitting on the porch when he returned. The blond man eyed him sympathetically, despite the fact that he no idea what had happened. Well, Matthew hoped he had no idea. Arthur had yelled at him pretty loudly. For all he knew, the entire house could have figured out what was going on. He trudged down the hallway and up the stairs, pausing when the second floor hall came into view. Ivan and Alfred were there.

Ivan's towering form leaned over Alfred, who was backed up against the wall, the Russian's arms on either side of his brother's body, preventing him from escaping. The Russian's lips were ghosting against Alfred's ears as he whispered something, and Matthew, wide-eyed, watched his brother's reaction. Alfred was blushing madly, biting his lower lip. Matthew's entire body stiffened as he watched the Russian's lips brush across his brother's cheek, heading toward his—

He stomped loudly on the stairs and continued upward.

Ivan immediately broke away from Alfred and glared at the man who had dared to interrupt them. When he saw who it was, he tried to regain his composure, but Matthew could clearly tell that Ivan knew what he'd seen. Alfred moved away from the wall, his face turned toward Matthew, obviously unsure of what was going on. Without speaking, Matthew marched up to his brother, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled down the hall into his room. Alfred protested, but Matthew forced him inside.

"Stay here, Al."

"Matt? What are you doing?" Alfred sounded panicked.

"Protecting you. Ivan is dangerous, Al."

"Well, yeah. I know, but—"

"No buts. End of discussion. _Stay here_." He warned and closed the door behind him.

He could feel Ivan's presence just behind him, and he slowly turned around to glare up at the man, who was staring down at him with disdain. Matthew closed the last few feet between them and stared right back up at him, challenging him.

"You stay away from my brother." He ordered.

Ivan cracked a grin. "And how, little soldier boy, are you expecting to enforce that?"

"Any way I can." His voice was low and dangerous. "Al is not a toy. He's traumatized and injured, and I will not have a bastard like you taking advantage of him. Is that clear?" He stepped forward just as Ivan stepped back.

The Russian eyes widened, a spark of interest in them. "So much self-sacrifice. So much. You and your brother are truly something else." He narrowed his eyes. "But let me be warning you, little soldier. If you are being set on preventing me from getting what I want, then you had better be preparing to offer me something in exchange."

Matthew swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He should have seen this coming. And in the back of his mind, he knew he had. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes. Fine. I'll give you something in return for leaving Alfred alone."

Ivan's smile was bright and malicious. "And what is it that you will be giving me?"

Matthew silently inhaled deeply. He knew at this point, after seeing that display, that Ivan could only want thing in exchange for Alfred's safety. He glanced briefly at the door to Arthur's room. No, he had to nothing to lose. Not anymore. As long as Alfred was safe, nothing else mattered. He met Ivan's eyes, eyes which once again held that playfully malevolent violet gleam.

"Me. I'll give you me."

* * *

**Dro: **Oh...this isn't going to end well. Trust me, I know.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred recalls Ludwig's explanation of his past in between his desperate attempts to figure out what Ivan has done to his brother.


	31. Of Ambivalence & Action

**Dro: **Thirty chapters. I didn't think this story would end up this long. Huh...Weird. And I still have quite a bit to go too. Interesting. Well, anyway, have at it!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred tries to figure out what happened to Matthew to no avail, all the while distressing over Ludwig's revelation.

**Warnings: **Implied dub-con; language

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH, guys. And never will. Never. Never. Never. Never.

* * *

Alfred didn't need this stress. He was already reeling from Ludwig's revelations about his past. He was frustrated over Arthur and Matt's falling out. And now…this. Matt had been gone for several hours, and Alfred had no clue where. He'd pressed his ear against the door in an attempt to hear what Matt and Ivan were saying, but they gradually moved away from him, and he'd lost track of their conversation just after his brother had warned the Russian to stay away from him.

What did Matthew think he was doing? Ivan was dangerous. He curled up tighter. He'd known for some time that the Russian was attracted to him in some way, but he hadn't suspected the true degree of it. Ivan _wanted_ him, he'd discovered today. The very thought sent shivers down Alfred's spine, and he kept recalling his dream. Did he want Ivan in return? Certainly there were no romantic feelings involved, at least on his side, but he couldn't deny that he felt some kind of strange attraction to the man. Maybe it was the danger. Maybe it was the mystery. He didn't know which—or if it was either—but he did know that he felt weird whenever he was around Ivan. Wary, sure. Suspicious. But buried beneath all that, there was something _else_.

And then there was Ludwig. What was he going to do about Ludwig now? He'd been shocked enough to hear Ludwig confess that he turned in his cousin's wife to the Gestapo. He was even more shocked to hear that the man had done so because he genuinely believed it was the right thing to do. Ludwig had told him how both he and his brother had been swept up in the nationalism that accompanied the Nazi's rise to power. He'd truly believed this would lead to a better future for Germany. They'd all been so poor and hopeless, Ludwig had described. Everyone thought they would starve, thought they would die young, thought Germany was nearing its end. And then hope had come along.

And Ludwig had been blinded by it. And because of that, he was now trapped in unending anguish. He had turned in his cousin's wife because he'd feared that she would "corrupt" his cousin. He remembered how Ludwig had spat out that word like it was poison. The one who was corrupted had not been his cousin's wife, he'd realized too late. If Ludwig had said nothing, done nothing, his cousin would still have been alive. The cousin, Roderich, and his wife had been planning to move from Germany. Flee away from the budding world war and all the imminent atrocities that would follow. They probably would have gotten away too.

But Ludwig had ruined that. Alfred sighed. He cared about Ludwig, and he couldn't say he blamed the man for what he'd done. Hadn't the same thing happened to him? When he'd heard about Pearl Harbor…a feeling of patriotism unlike any other had risen up inside of him. He was no better than Ludwig, really. He'd been swept up in the war feeling, swept up in his country's sentiments.

And that was why he couldn't blame Ludwig even though Ludwig blamed himself. Never in his life had he seen so much regret in one person. Ludwig was tortured because of what he had done. His soul was hurting. His heart. He was tormented by the memories of that night. Alfred bit his lip, remembering how Ludwig had described being there, standing just outside the house, watching helplessly as it burned up in front. He'd tried to rush in, tried to save his cousin, but…Gilbert had held him back. Ludwig had lamented that it would have been so much better if Gilbert had just let him go. Ludwig sincerely believed he deserved to die for what he'd done.

Alfred was so conflicted at this point. Not just about Ludwig, but about everything. He couldn't tell right from wrong anymore. Couldn't figure out who was the enemy and who was an ally. And he felt like it could only get more confusing from here. How could remedy this situation? How could he make any of this better for anyone? How could—

The door to his room creaked opened. He sat up, his facing pointed toward the door, listening intently. Someone slowly walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Alfred noticed the person was limping, his steps uneven.

"Matt…is that you?"

"Yeah. It's me." Alfred could hear his brother trying to mask pain.

"What happened? What did he do to you?" Alfred demanded. He swore to God if that fucking Russian had hurt his brother…

"Nothing, Al. I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me. I can hear you limping!"

Matthew's footsteps paused. "Wow, your hearing is amazing nowadays, huh?"

"Matt, this is serious. What did he do?"

"We got into a scuffle, Al. Nothing serious. I made him promise to leave you alone from now on."

Guilt welled up his chest. He brother had _fought_ the massive Russian? "Matt, are you crazy? He could have killed you!"

"I told you, Al. It's nothing serious. Just let it go. I'm tired now."

Alfred pursed his lips. His brother was leaving something out. He just knew it. He could tell when Matt was lying. There was a waver to his voice, a subtle hint that he was saying just wasn't true. He felt a pang in his chest. Matt wasn't trusting him now? When had that happened? He heard his brother sink to the floor onto the comforter. Alfred clenched the sheets. If Matt was injured, he certainly wasn't sleeping on the floor. "You take the bed, Matt. You're hurt."

"It's fine, Al."

"No, it's not!"

"Al!"

Alfred froze. When was the last time Matt had raised his voice at him like that? They didn't get into serious arguments. They hadn't in years.

"M-Matt…"

"Please, Al, just let it go." Matthew replied wearily. He sounded exhausted. "Please?"

Alfred didn't say another word.

* * *

Alfred did not sleep that night. He laid awake, wondering just when it was he'd stumbled upon his brother's feelings for Arthur. He thought it may have been on a whim, at some point when he was off on a random tangent. He'd been worrying and worrying about Arthur and Matthew's fight, and then…something had just clicked. At first, he'd just rationalized that he'd thought of it because he himself was doubting his romantic inclinations. The recurring dream was still present in his mind, still sneaking into his brain while he slept. He felt vulnerable and confused about himself, and maybe, he'd surmised, he'd just wanted his brother to feel the same way so he'd have someone to sympathize with.

But the more he'd thought about it, about the way the two of them were acting, the more convinced he'd become that he was right. He hadn't spoken to Arthur much because the man seemed to be shut up in his room most of the day, but the little he had spoken to the man had given him several clues. Every time he mentioned Matt's name, Arthur's tone changed. It went from angry and irritated to _scared_. Arthur tried to hide it beneath fury and rage, but even his typical anger wasn't strong enough to mask it, especially not from Alfred's ears. There was something in Arthur's voice that suggested Matt had done something completely unexpected, something shocking.

And there was, of course, Matt. The way that Matt was acting reaffirmed his suspicions. The tears, the hopelessness. It sounded every bit like Matt had been rejected. So he'd went out on a limb and confronted his brother about it. He'd been surprised that Matt had admitted it so freely, and he'd immediately known he needed to support his brother. What kind of person would he be to criticize his brother for having feelings for another man when he himself was having similar feelings? And while he hadn't been sure of Arthur's feelings, he'd been confident that Arthur wouldn't just throw away his relationship with Matt.

Until he'd heard Arthur brutally reject Matt earlier. He almost hadn't believed it. He'd been convinced he was dreaming at first. How could Arthur ever treat Matt that way? Even if he had rejected his brother's homosexuality, Alfred never would have just rejected his brother entirely. He wouldn't have been able to. He loved Matt too much. And he'd thought…he'd thought Arthur felt the same. Apparently he'd been wrong. And his mistake had hurt Matt even more.

Now there was this whole Ivan problem. He wasn't sure he bought the whole "scuffle" thing. It was a believable scenario, sure, for two people arguing over something mundane. But this was not a mundane situation, and they were not speaking of mundane ideas. This was about something taboo, something rejected by the majority of society. He shivered. If they'd been back in the States and something like this had happened in the public's eye…God, they'd never have been able to show their faces to anyone again. They were walking a very fine line here, he knew. He was in a house with a captured SS officer, three Soviet spies, one of which was ruthless and unnervingly clever, and his two closest family members. One misstep could ruin everything for them, and for all he knew, they could have already crossed that line.

He rolled over, listening for the sound of Matt's breathing. It was steady but slightly labored, as if Matt was in pain even in his sleep. He sighed and slipped out of bed silently, walking slowly and carefully across the room until he found the door. He opened it slowly, pausing when it creaked. No one stirred. He quickly made his way down the stairs, treading lightly in an attempt not to wake anyone up. He managed to find the front door and pulled it open, inhaling deeply as the cool, dry night air ghosted across his skin. He closed the door behind him and walked out onto the porch until he hit the guardrail. He leaned on it, sliding his fingers against the worn wood.

"You will be getting splinters if you do that."

He stiffened at the Russian's voice. How was it that he never noticed Ivan's presence until it was too late? He turned his head to the right, where Ivan's voice had come from. "What are you doing out here?"

"That was what I was going to ask you. I was already here." He heard a sharp exhale. Ivan was smoking.

Alfred felt himself bristle like a cat. This bastard had done something to his brother. "I couldn't sleep." He answered tersely.

Ivan's tone shifted toward surprise. "I see. And why is that?"

Alfred snapped. "Well, I don't know. Could it be because you did something to my brother, and he won't tell me what?" He turned completely toward where he assumed the Russian was sitting. "Maybe _you_ could put my mind at ease? Though I sincerely doubt it considering the shit you probably put Mattie through."

"I did to him only what he allowed me to do. And nothing more. Your brother is quite a force to be reckoned with."

Alfred shivered at the man's words. What in the world had he done? "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Ivan chuckled. "Calm down, American boy. Your brother will be fine. I assure you of that." Ivan patted something with his hand. "Come. Sit with me."

Alfred hesitated, but he eventually pressed forward. He was walking right back into the lion's den, he knew. He hadn't forgotten how Ivan had trapped him earlier, had made a move on him. But if he was going to unravel the mystery here, he would need to play Ivan's game again. So he walked slowly over and reached out, searching for the place where Ivan was sitting. Ivan's hand shot out and grabbed his own, pulling him onto the long, cushioned bench where the Russian was sitting. He tensed as he landed, wondering what Ivan was going to do to him. But Ivan made no immediate move toward him other letting his arm come to rest behind Alfred on the top of the bench.

Ivan continued to smoke, and Alfred cringed at the smell as it burned his nose. He'd smoked plenty before, but he'd never particularly enjoyed it. And now, with his body so sensitive to everything, he felt disgusted by it. Ivan didn't seem to notice his distress. Either that, or he did and just didn't care, which seemed like something the Russian would do. Eventually, he heard Ivan flick his fingers, and he sighed in relief as the smoke cleared from the air.

"Smoking bothers you?"

"Oh, so you just noticed?"

"You could have said something."

"Right, because that would have made you stop."

Ivan snickered. "You have a point."

Alfred went for it. "So, are you going to tell me what happened with you and Matt earlier or what?"

He felt Ivan's mood suddenly shift. "Do you have to keep bringing that up?"

"Yes, until you tell me what happened."

"Ask your brother."

"He won't say."

"Then what is making you believe that I will?"

He turned toward the man. "Because you usually like to gloat about every time you get your way. What makes this time different? And don't lie and tell me you didn't get what you wanted, Ivan. You may think you're great at hiding intentions, but you're not. I'm not stupid Ivan. I know what you wanted from me, and I know my brother prevented you from getting it at a price. So tell me—"

Ivan's thumb landed on his lip, silencing him. His other hand rose to the bandages around Alfred's eyes, deftly undoing them before he could even protest. The gauze felt uselessly away from him, leaving his damaged eyes opened to the air. He blinked. There was no sight them, not even a hint of light, but he shivered, feeling as if he was staring right into Ivan's eyes. Ivan's hands moved to cup his cheeks, and he took his chance.

"I-Ivan, what are you…what are you doing?"

Ivan didn't answer him, and Alfred panicked. He made to spring away from the bench and bolt back into the house. But he wasn't fast enough. Ivan leaned in until their noses touched, and Alfred felt his ability to move leave his muscles. His lips parted slight of their own accord as they were caressed by Ivan's breath, still smelling slightly of cigarette smoke.

"I-I-Ivan…" _Stop him, stupid!_

Ivan kissed him.

Ivan kissed him. And he kissed Ivan back.

* * *

**Dro: **This was a fairly long chapter for this story. Huh. Alfred just has that many problems, it seems.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred becomes even more confused when Ludwig makes a confession. Meanwhile, we finally get to see what's going on in Arthur's head. It's not pretty. Finally, Ivan receives his orders, and the group prepares to move even further away from France.


	32. Of Distress & Comfort

**Dro: **So much character development. Don't worry, the plot comes back into full swing next chapter. Until then, enjoy a confused America and a brooding England.

**Chapter Summary: **A confused Alfred becomes even more flustered after a confession from Ludwig leads to something unexpected. Meanwhile, a emotionally-struggling Arthur broods alone in his room.

**Warnings: **language; homophobia

**Disclaimer: **Dro can barely wake up before Noon. You honestly think she has enough drive to make the millions necessary to purchase APH?

* * *

He stood at the door for several moments, unmoving. He wasn't sure what he planned to accomplish by going to see Ludwig again. He'd been so confused the night before, confused at Ivan's actions, confused at his own actions. What had he been thinking when he'd returned Ivan's kiss? That had to be one of the most foolish things he'd ever done in his life, but, at the time he'd done it, all he'd been thinking of was the dream. That damned dream that wouldn't leave him alone. And he'd expected Ivan's advances to continue just like they had in the dream, but what actually happened was even more perplexing. Ivan had kissed deeply and tenderly. Just one, long, passionate kiss. Then he'd pulled away. And that was it.

Alfred couldn't help but think that something didn't add up here. Ivan was not the kind of person to do things halfway. If he wanted something, he got it. Alfred knew without a doubt that Ivan _wanted_ him, so why had he stopped? Not that Alfred was complaining. If they'd gone much further than just a kiss, Alfred was sure he'd be regretting it a thousand times more than he was this morning. After all, Ivan had done something to Matt, something that Alfred still had no knowledge of. He'd wondered for a long time if Ivan had kissed him just to stop him from asking more questions. But that was far too simple for a man like Ivan, so Alfred had shaken that thought out of the queue a long time ago.

Finally, he pulled open the door to the room Ludwig was confined in. He knew Eduard was just around the corner, peeking around it every few seconds to make sure Ludwig wasn't escaping. Escaping from this house would have been nearly impossible with all the eyes watching and waiting for it to happen. They would have to come up with an alternative solution. Maybe they could attempt to escape while on the road? He shook his head and stepped into Ludwig's room, closing the door behind him.

"Alfred?" Ludwig's weary voice sounded off from the corner. He was cuffed to the bed, Alfred knew. He made his way over to the German man and sat down next to him again.

"Hey, Ludwig." He said.

"Good morning." Ludwig replied.

Alfred sat there for several seconds, twiddling his thumbs. He still wasn't sure why he'd come here. Finally, he thought of something to say. "Ludwig…are we friends?"

He heard Ludwig shift on the bed. "Of course. At least, I think so."

Okay, so Ludwig considered him a friend. That was a start. "Um, well…is that it?" He regretted it as soon as he'd said it. He'd phrased that very badly. Ludwig could take that the wrong way. He probably hated anything that sounded remotely homosexual, and—

"Um, honestly?" He coughed. "Well, you see…" He sounded flustered. "Actually, when I first saw you, wounded and dying near your plane, I…I thought you were my salvation."

Alfred felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "W-what do you mean?"

Ludwig inhaled loudly. "When Roderich died, I thought…I thought my soul was destined to burn, Alfred. I felt like there was no redemption out there for me. How could there be anything that I could possibly do to make up for my wrongs? And in truth, there isn't. Nothing I do will bring Roderich back…" His voice tightened. "But…but I _do_ have the opportunity to change my ways. And you gave me that opportunity. When I saw you there…I saw myself standing in front of that house again, watching helplessly as Roderich died inside. And for a moment, I pictured myself as your relatives, as your fellow soldiers. I immediately realized that…that it doesn't matter what side of a war you're on. People are people. They all have loved ones. They all make mistakes. It doesn't matter who is wearing what uniform or who has which beliefs. If I can save someone's life, then I should. And that's that. You…" He sighed. "You made me realize that Alfred. I won't lie. At first, when I'd brought you to the farmhouse and started cleaning your wounds, I had second thoughts. But every time I looked at you, every time I saw your face, your injuries, I felt my beliefs grow stronger.

"And then you woke up. And we started talking and interacting and…and I no longer had any doubts. Your spirit. Your dedication. Your willingness to live even through something as hellish as your burns. How many more men like you have died in this war, Alfred? How many innocents? How many people who had already built something for themselves in life, only to have it pointlessly stolen away for a meaningless war? Before I saw you that day, I…I had been walking aimlessly toward…nothing. I could see no future for myself after what I had done." His hand landed on Alfred's shoulder. "And you changed that for me. And I will be eternally grateful for it. So, yes, you are a lot more than just a friend to me. And you will always be." He squeezed gently.

Alfred was stunned. He'd expected…something. But not this. Not something this deep, something that went this far. And it didn't even have to be romantic feelings. It didn't have to be that at all. Because this was…this was something beyond that. Alfred had never felt so endeared in his life. He wanted to try and deny all those things, that it was actually just that Ludwig was a good person, that he didn't Alfred to make the decisions he had. But he couldn't even makes his mouth work. How long had Ludwig been keeping all these feelings inside of him? It was no wonder he was a wreck half the time now. There must have been a thousand different feelings battling in Ludwig's mind right now.

Without thinking, he leaned over and hugged the man, his nose brushing against Ludwig's neck. Ludwig immediately stiffened, and Alfred almost pulled away, but then a strong pair of arms wrapped around him and held him in place. A tear landed on Alfred's cheek, and he realized Ludwig was crying again. He smiled sadly and embraced the man tighter, trying his best to comfort him. When they finally parted, Ludwig let out a shaky breath. Alfred realized they were close. Really close. He found himself blushing again, and he nearly pulled back and scooted away, but a hand landed on his cheek and stopped him.

"And you, Alfred? Am I merely a friend to you?"

Alfred's lips parted, but he couldn't find the words to speak. What could he say? After he'd been having these confusing dreams, these confusing feelings? He was so lost to any concrete emotions that he honestly had no idea how to respond to this. Without realizing it, he began to lean closer to Ludwig, and by the time he caught up to what his body was doing, it was too late. His lips brushed Ludwig's. He nearly pulled back and ran out the room, thinking he'd just completely screwed up. But Ludwig's hand never left his cheek, and instead of the disgusted response Alfred had been expected, Ludwig tilted his head and pressed their lips together softly. It lasted all of three seconds. Just a chaste kiss of two pairs of lips. But the simple action spoke volumes of emotion that neither man could ever articulate.

"Does…does that answer your question, Ludwig?"

"Ja…it does."

* * *

Arthur paced back and forth for what had to have been the hundredth time that day. His heart was racing. His thoughts were muddled. He emotions were completely out of whack. And he was wracked with more guilt than he ever had been before. How could he have said those things to Matthew? When he thought over it again, it was like he hadn't even been in control of his body. It was like he'd been a standing on the opposite side of the room, watching himself scream at Matthew.

He groaned. He'd be lucky if either brother ever talked to him again after this. Alfred had been ignoring him all morning, and he hadn't even seen Matthew today. Not that he blamed him. He deserved to be ignored. But…but he just couldn't get over it. Matthew had _kissed_ him. Even forgoing that Matthew was another man—Arthur couldn't lie; he'd been on the battlefield long enough to see plenty of _that_—Matthew was…was his closest kin. They'd been a family unit. That was what they were supposed to be! Or…or was it? He let himself sink a chair. God, he was so ambivalent here. On one hand, he'd _hurt_ Matthew. A lot. And that had been wrong of him. But on the other hand, how could he possibly accept the boy's advances?

Not to mention said advances left him with a thousand other questions. How long had this been going on? Had the entire time he'd thought the boy had been drifting away from him just been Matthew's attempt to hide his feelings? Matthew was obviously as ambivalent about his _own_ feelings as Arthur was his. He could see that plainly now, in the way Matthew had been acting around him for weeks, in the words they'd exchanged. Matthew had been trying to hide _this_ from him as much as possible. And then…and then he'd just…lost it. It had to have been hard to suppress his feelings, his attraction.

And then he'd gone and just rejected the boy like that. But what was he supposed to do? He certainly didn't feel the same way about Matthew that Matthew did about him. That was ludicrous. The boys were like sons, like younger brothers. That was what they'd always been and what they would always be. He bit his lips, trying to ignore the memory of Matthew kissing him so passionately. That had been wrong. So very, very wrong. And then that flash of hope in his eyes, so deep, so all encompassing. And then in the span of a second, it had deteriorated into pure sadness and hopelessness. Arthur had caused that. Arthur had cause his boy that pain.

But what was he supposed to do? He'd already gone and ruined any chance of repairing their relationship. What had he been thinking when he'd yelled at Matthew like that? A part of himself knew it was from fear, knew that, somewhere inside himself was the childish belief that if he just rejected Matthew's feelings, then they would go away. Childish. That was what he was being right now. The boys were supposed to be the children here, and yet here he was acting every bit like a rotten little child and nothing like the guardian figure he was supposed to be.

He _would_ talk to Matthew again. He had to. If he left things like this, his relationship with the boys would continue to deteriorate until…He couldn't let that happen. No matter what. These boys were all he had, and he'd be damned if he'd lost them to something like this. Somehow, they would get through this. He just needed to talk to Matthew like a calm, rational man first. Yes. That was what he would do. Right now. He would do it now. He made his way to the door and heaved it open, only to come face to face with the man named Toris.

"Oh, Mr. Arthur. I was just about to knock. Sorry if I disturbed you. I just wanted to let you know we're leaving tomorrow morning. Ivan received our orders on where to head next."

Arthur stood there silently, uncomprehending, for a few moments. Then he realized: they were moving further away from France tomorrow. He pursed his lips. "Very well." He slammed the door in the man's face and turned around, leaning against the door. Great. Now he had something else to worry about. When was this going to end?

* * *

**Dro: **Ah, Arthur, denial is a terrible thing.

**Next Chapter: **After engine trouble leaves the group stranded in a remote area, Arthur finds an opportunity to escape, Ivan discovers something that angers him greatly, and both Matthew and Alfred find themselves in very compromising situations.


	33. Of Fatefulness & Confrontation

**Dro: **Wondering why this chapter wasn't out earlier? Well, truthfully, I've been planning to move to night writing for a long time. If you haven't noticed from Labyrinth and my one shots yet, I tend to write about five times better at night than I do during the middle of the day. For a lot of reasons. But anyway, that's why. And personally, I think it paid off. I think this is the best chapter of this story yet. And I think this is quite possibly the best dialogue I have ever written. Ever. So please tell me if I'm right! I'd love to know what you think!

**Chapter Summary: **Engine trouble leaves the group stranded. Alfred and Ludwig have a moment that angers Ivan. In turn, Ivan and Matthew have a moment. Unfortunately, their moment is not private.

**Warnings: **_Dub-con_/Sex, Language

**Disclaimer: **I don't own APH, but I do own a Crunch Bar, and I think I might eat it because I'm kinda hungry...

* * *

After sitting there for about six hours with no improvement, Alfred couldn't help but once again note that God played the strangest tricks on him. One moment, he seemed to be heading straight toward hell. The next, there was a light waiting for him at the end of the tunnel. He sat cross-legged on the ground now, listening to Toris tinker with the engine of the truck. He'd been doing so with few gains ever since it had started sputtering and spitting smoke an hour into their trip east. At first, Alfred had been irritated after Ivan had ordered him to sit and wait against a tree. He'd put Arthur and Matthew somewhere else, far enough away from him that they couldn't whisper plans amongst themselves. Ivan, like usual, was smart.

Because this was the perfect opportunity to escape. It was hard to get away from three Russian spies in a creaky old house. But now they were in the middle of the wilderness, surrounded by trees on both sides, and it was just Toris and Ivan. If they just could get far enough into the forest, they could lose the pair of spies. Of course, they'd have to free Ludwig first. Alfred was pretty sure he was bound and somewhere incredibly close to Ivan, where they couldn't hope to get him. And as the minutes wore on, Alfred started to become convinced they were going to lose their window of opportunity. He was sure Toris would get the truck working again any second.

Except he didn't. They were there for another two hours before Toris finally admitted he was all out of ideas. Ivan growled under his breath but made no retort. "Very well. You two," he said, Alfred assuming he meant Matthew and Arthur, "help Toris move the truck into the woods. We need to get it off the road before anyone comes along."

Alfred sighed loudly. Ivan wasn't taking chances at all. But he was sure they would get no better opportunity to escape. He heard said Russian approach with someone in tow, obviously Ludwig. Ivan sat him down next to Alfred. Hard. Alfred huffed loudly. "Don't treat him like a ragdoll, Ivan. He's a person, you know?"

Ivan snorted. "He is a _Nazi._ I will treat him like the scum he is." He backed away but didn't move too far from them. Alfred could feel his eyes land on them every few seconds. He was periodically flicking his gaze back and forth from Matthew and Arthur to him and Ludwig. And it was at that moment that Alfred realized that Ivan had a weakness, something he hadn't noticed before but had been right in front of his nose the entire time.

Ivan was paranoid.

_Really_ paranoid.

Alfred could feel the man's lack of trust, even toward poor Toris, who followed his every command and acted every bit like the loyal sidekick he obviously truly was. But Ivan probably doubted anyone could be trusted, and Alfred wondered just why that was. Ivan's scars resurfaced in his mind, and he considered them again. Ivan had never revealed where he'd gotten them. It was blatantly obvious he'd been tortured, of course, but why? By who? Had he been betrayed by someone?

Alfred _almost_ pitied him for it, but he refused to let himself fall victim to that mentality. Ivan was the enemy here. Ivan was the man they desperately needed to escape from. He leaned closer to Ludwig, comforted by the man's presence. He knew Ludwig was handcuffed, and that wasn't something he could get the man out of. He tried to think of any way he could be helpful in this situation. He knew Mattie and Arthur were probably wracking their brains for a decent escape plan, so he should have been doing the same too, right?

"Alfred." Ludwig murmured.

"Hm?"

"About yesterday…"

Alfred felt his face heat up. Did Ludwig really want to talk about _that_ now? Well, they hadn't really talked about it at the time. In fact, they'd both been rather surprised and confused about it after everything was said and done, and both of them had agreed they'd discuss it more later when they were in a better position. But this wasn't exactly what Alfred would call a _better_ position.

"Um, what about it?" He asked hesitantly.

"Well, um…I mean…I'm just curious…what…what does this…_make_…us?"

Alfred considered it, chewing lightly on his lip for several seconds before coming up with an answer. "It makes us whatever we want to be."

Ludwig snorted. "I see. So that's how it is? Does this mean I can label this however I want?"

Alfred smiled. "Why label it at all? I think it would sound much better as 'that which is too amazing for a name.'"

Ludwig chuckled, his tone wistful. "Amazing, huh? Hm…I suppose it is, isn't it? Something like this. I feel as if I am swimming in deep, uncharted territory. But I do not fear this territory. Instead, I seek to swim even farther into it and leave all that is familiar to me behind. And you know what I find most amazing about it? If I was to confide my feelings to anyone I knew, anyone from my home, any of my kin, they would despise and shun me. And yet…I do not feel the slightest doubt in the road that I am walking down. It is a road I have not taken before, something wholly unknown to me, and, as a human being, I know that I am supposed to fear it. But I do not. My resolve is unwavering, just as my resolve to save and care for you became, just as my resolve to get you and your family home now is. I walk a different path than any of my forefathers, but I do not believe this is wrong. One time—even recently—I would have. But you…you have shown me that that there is not one road I must take. There are infinite roads, and I am free to choose." He sighed softly. "And I choose this one, regardless of the consequences it may have." He whispered.

Alfred swallowed, his cheeks burning. "Ludwig…" He couldn't contain his smile. "Well, if that's your choice, then I suppose I can walk that road with you. But, you know, I might need to hold your hand along the way." He smiled sadly. "Because even though I know the road is there, I still can't see it, and I still can't see what dangers lie along it."

Ludwig leaned closer to him and whispered it his ear. "Then I will hold your hand and guide you down the road as long as you require it of me."

"And if that's forever?" He whispered breathlessly.

"…Then I should perhaps sell my house and invest in a walking stick. It appears the road we are taking is quite long."

"Just don't make it a big stick. I think I would prefer hearing you speak loudly, especially on _this_ road." Alfred smile mischievously.

Ludwig stifled a laugh. "Well, if that's what you want…"

"Ah, we are having a fun conversation, da?"

And once again, Alfred thought sourly, Ivan had succeeded in ruining his day.

* * *

Arthur wasn't sure what it was that woke him up. One moment, he was blissfully unaware of the world around him, unaware of the danger he and his boys were in, unaware of the many threats seeking to tear them apart, unaware of the guilt slowly accumulating in his gut. And the next moment, he was back in reality, the hard forest floor leaving with no doubts of any of those things. He sat up and surveyed the area. Alfred was a few feet away of him, curled up and breathing shallowly as he slept. Across the campsite was Ludwig, firmly secured to a tree via rope but with enough leeway for him too to lay down and doze peacefully. Toris was also asleep, his form just a few feet away from the vehicle he'd been trying to fix all day.

And that was when he realized.

Matthew and Ivan were not there.

His pulse picked up, and he scrutinized the camp again just in case he had missed something, just in case his eyes weren't properly adjusted to the dim light of the moon. But he wasn't wrong. Neither Ivan—who had volunteered to stay up and guard them—nor Matthew were anywhere in the immediate vicinity. He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, listening for any sound that might lead him to them. He was still confused and lost about what to do about Matthew, but he would be damned if he let this Russian bastard hurt his boy. Finally, he picked up something. Something that was most certainly human.

He rose to his feet, trying to force his body to make totally silent movements. He crept along, honing in on the low groan that had first caught his attention as it repeated itself several more times, lightly echoing through the woods. If that fucking Russian was hurting Matthew, he was going to…He paused as a sound that was most certainly _not_ pain caught his ears. Had he just heard that, or was he imaginings things? He tried to force any obscene thoughts from his mind, but he couldn't banish them. They persisted, and he found himself increasing his pace, searching for the origin of his worst fears and inevitable devastation.

And he found it.

He first spotted them from about twenty feet away. And what he saw left very little to the imagination. Matthew's pants were strewn carelessly aside, half-way hung up in a thorny bush. Matthew himself was pressed against a tree, his arms and legs wrapped firmly around the massive Russian's torso as the man…

He nearly threw up.

Matthew's face was contorted, partially in pain, partially with something that Arthur refused to acknowledge. The Russian's face was pressed against Matthew's shoulder, and Arthur could clearly make out his low groans now. Arthur stood paralyzed, his mind and body completely shutting down. He couldn't tear himself away, and he couldn't force himself to speak. So he just stood there and _watched_. And to disgust him even more, the fucking Russian started a _conversation_ right in the middle of…

"Why is it that you will not let me kiss you?" He asked, his voice husky and low.

Matthew grunted. "I…told…you…already." He tensed, biting back something that obviously _wasn't_ a moan of pain. He went lax, and Russian gripped his hips—hard—before stifling a similar sound.

"Well, do tell me again." He nose brushed against Matthew's cheek as he began to move away.

Matthew growled, warning him. "Kissing is reserved for intimacy, Braginsky. For me, personally, it's something I reserve for people I love. And no one else. A meaningless fuck is not intimacy to me." Matthew roughly pushed the man away and rose to his feet, leaning on the tree for support. His eyes clenched in obvious pain.

Ivan seemed to consider him. "So you say…but are you sure the same applies to everyone?" He challenged.

Matthew shrugged as he staggered over to where his pants had been carelessly tossed. "Who knows? Some people aren't capable of intimacy, Braginsky. Some people don't deserve it."

Ivan frowned deeply. "Careful, little soldier boy. My patience only goes so far."

Matthew turned back to him, still nude from the waist down. "As does mine. You threatened to compromise my brother in more ways than even you know, Ivan, and I offered you this as a compromise. So take it or leave it. But be warned, if you leave this semblance of peace behind, you _won't_ get another in its place."

Something emerged from Ivan's mouth that started as a sigh but quickly morphed into a low chuckle. "You are an interesting opponent, _Matthew_. I am quite interested in seeing how you truly fight." He rose to his feet and dusted off his pants. "But I am thinking that will have to wait. There are more important things that come before competition, da?"

Matthew glared at him. "Thank God for that." He struggled to slip back into his pants, and he nearly fell over. Arthur watched, still dazed, as Ivan caught him before he fell.

"Tell me, little soldier boy, have I hurt you yet?"

Matthew seemed genuinely surprised at the question. "Ah…not really…" He seemed to begrudgingly admit. "Though you are a bit rough, you know?"

Ivan chuckled again. "I will have to be working on that then, da?"

Matthew frowned suspiciously. "Why were you upset anyway?"

Ivan froze, and his entire demeanor seemed to shift in a instant. "What are you meaning by that?" He said icily.

Matthew shook his head. "You know exactly what I mean." He pulled away from the man, securing his pants around his waist. "Don't pretend I'm blind to the way you look at Al, Ivan. We've had this argument already. I know exactly what you want, and I also know you feel threatened whenever something seems to come between you and the object of your desire. I can see it in your eyes. Which leads me to guess that you saw something in Alfred that you didn't like." He smirked.

Ivan stared down at him angrily for several seconds. Then it all seemed to drain from his body, and he returned to his typical act. "Remember about my patience, Matthew." He began to walk away, but he paused as Matthew replied.

"And you remember the same of me."

Matthew trailed after him, and Arthur panicked, realizing that if they beat him back to camp, then he would have a major problem. He about-faced and took off, moving as swiftly and silently as he physically could. His mind was racing. His stomach was churning. He felt ready to pass out right there. But he forced himself to keep going. Somehow, he made it back to their camp less than a minute before they did, and he tucked himself back in his personal spot on the ground, curling up in a tight ball and hiding himself beneath the thin blanket.

Long after the pair had settled down and the camp was completely silent, save for Ivan's occasional sigh or murmur, Arthur's mind continued to replay the same scene over and over, over and over, over and over. It replayed those words until he was sure he would break down right then and there. And he would have, too, had Ivan not been a mere ten feet away from him. So he kept together on the outside.

Even while he was breaking into a thousand pieces.

"_Kissing is reserved for intimacy, Braginsky. For me, personally, it's something I reserve for people I love. And no one else."_

_Oh._

_Oh, God. _

_Forgive me._

* * *

**Dro: **I don't want to sound cruel (Pssht! Who am I kidding?), but I kinda feel like Arthur deserved that one.

**Next Chapter: **An unexpected ambush changes the game yet again!_  
_


	34. Of Salvation & Deliverance

**Dro: **Ah, I feel like everything flows so much better at night time. Anyway, enjoy this chapter. It's the beginning of another dual arc that will last until the end of the story. So, have at it, people!

**Chapter Summary: **An unexpected ambush changes the game once again!

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **-laughs hysterically- Yeah, right! As if!

* * *

And yet again, they were all left to sit by and dawdle while Toris uselessly tinkered away at the engine of the truck. Alfred knew Ivan was growing more and more aggravated by the second, and he was tempted to ask the Russian why he'd never invested any time in learning a useful skills like, say, _fixing_ _an engine_. However, he figured Ivan may just have been angry enough to rip his head off for that one, so he decided not to push it. He shifted his thought pattern in the direction of Ludwig. He and Ludwig had…what? Confessed? His cheeks began to warm from that thought, and he nibbled on his lip. It had certainly sounded like a confession—from both sides. He'd been overjoyed to realize that Ludwig didn't find their feelings for one another disgusting. The man had sounded more wistful and curious than anything else, and Alfred understood the feeling perfectly well. This was new territory to both of them, but it wasn't something either was particularly afraid of.

Unlike, apparently, Matt and Arthur. _Something_ had happened recently that had changed their relationship once again, and Alfred wasn't sure if it was something good yet. They were actually speaking with one another today, though their conversation was all but basic. Comments on the weather. Grumbling about being stuck here on a hot day. The same things everyone else was chatting about. But at least they didn't seem so utterly hostile toward one another anymore. Well, in Arthur's case. Matthew had never been particularly hostile. Not even now. He wondered what could have happened in the course of a single day to repair this much between them.

If he could call it "repaired." He was starting to doubt his initial assessment more and more as time went on. Talking was surely a good sign that _something_ had happened, but he didn't have any clue what that something was. And the more he listened to their voices, to the slight fluctuations in their speech that could so clearly hint at so many emotions, the more he became convinced that something unexpected and unprecedented was going on here. Matthew actually sounded more _confused_ than anything else, as if he still thought Arthur was beyond enraged. And Arthur…Arthur had never sounded apologetic in his life. In was like he'd made a complete one-eighty. Some of his short quips about the weather almost sounded like _begging_. But begging for what? For forgiveness? Had he finally come around like Alfred had been so sure of at first?

Something else was in the works here, he knew. This sudden about face just wasn't…_right_. Something had occurred that had, in some way, forced Arthur to make this sudden change. And Alfred was dying to know what it was. As the seconds ticked by and the minutes dragged on, he couldn't help but consider every possibility that his mind conjured up. Some of the scenarios were incredibly mundane—Arthur had had a terrifying nightmare that had caused him to have a moral crisis that had changed his opinion of Mattie. Some of them were…unorthodox. Arthur had been visited by an angel that had told him he was going to hell for forsaking one of his two closest relatives?

Wow, he really needed to get it together, didn't he? He brought himself out of his thoughts and back down to reality, only to find that nothing had changed. Toris could still be heard huffing and puffing and apparently trying to blow the entire truck down, and Ivan could still be heard growling angrily. He was, of course, a much bigger wolf than Toris, and Alfred started to worry for the poor Lithuanian. But then, a miracle happened.

He felt everyone shift abruptly as the truck roared back to life. Toris let out a shout of relief and joy, and Alfred heard him collapse to the ground. Probably from exhaustion, he mused. Ivan clapped his hands loudly and rose to his feet, and Alfred felt him brush by as he went to _retrieve_ Ludwig. Ludwig groaned in annoyance, but he allowed himself to be escorted back toward the truck. Alfred followed them close behind, wondering if they should attempt to flee at this point. Toris was down and tired, and it was just Ivan against him, Mattie, and Arthur. They could pull this off. He whipped around to motion to the two of them.

A bullet blew past his head and hit the trunk dead on, and Alfred dropped to his knees, ducking for cover. Ivan cursed loudly, and the next thing Alfred knew, he'd been hauled off the ground. Ivan screamed orders at Toris in harsh Russian and then yelled for Arthur and Matthew to follow him. He retreated into the woods just as the sound of a _massive_ party of pursuers came into hearing range. There had to be at least twenty. Alfred swallowed nervously, his head bobbing up and down, the movement jarring his neck painfully with each step Ivan took further into the forest.

They were being pursued by SS. It _had_ to be them. Ludwig had been taken, and the SS had _noticed_. They must have been coming to retrieve him, or at least to kill the Russian spy that had captured him. Alfred couldn't be sure just what their orders were, but he knew very well that no matter what they were, it wasn't good news for him, Mattie, or Arthur. Ludwig might very well get away from this unscathed no matter what their orders may have been. But the rest of them were out of luck. The SS didn't seem to want to take prisoners today if their preemptive strike was any indication.

Another bullet flew past him, just barely grazing his nose. He cursed under his breath at the sting, wondering why they all seemed to be aiming at him. Granted, it was probably just his imagination because he couldn't see, but he could bullets landed all around him, chipping chunks of bark off trees, landed with dull thuds in the dirt. The pursuers were beginning to catch up, too. Alfred could hear them shouting to one another in German now.

"Alfred, are you all right?"

Ludwig's breathless whisper came just from his left, and he realized, stunned, that Ivan was actually carrying them _both_ and running what had to be full speed at the same time. _Damn, he's strong. _He realized he was probably lucky the SS had shown up when they did. If Ivan actually had this much physical strength, then even the three of them combined wouldn't have been enough to beat him. He could have taken them all out any time he wanted with what would have amounted to very little resistance on their part.

"I'm fine. You?" He muttered back.

"Physically, very well. Though I am unsure that will last much longer at this rate."

"How many of them are there?"

"I would also like to know, if you would be so kind, Mr. Beilschmidt." Ivan said in between breaths.

Ludwig hesitated, but he eventually acquiesced. "If my eyes are not deceiving me, then there are about twenty-five to thirty men."

Alfred cringed. That was even more than he'd originally estimated. Damn, they were really in trouble this time.

Ivan cursed. "And we do not have the adequate fire power to stop them all. Our only choice is losing them."

Ludwig reasoned with him. "With so many of them, that will likely be impossible."

Ivan scoffed. "Do not say 'impossible' to me. I have heard many a man say it, and rarely is it ever true."

Ludwig said nothing more after that, and Alfred gasped as Ivan suddenly changed direction, yelling for the others to follow him. Alfred tried to figure out just what Ivan was doing until he was able to _hear_ what the rest of them had obviously already seen.

They were closing in on what must have been a river. Or at least a minor branch of one. He could hear the flowing water even through the constant stream of German shouts and fleeting gunshots and gasping breaths for air as the lungs of his companions began to fail them. Alfred braced himself. He could swim just fine, but he wasn't sure how effective his burned arms and legs would be. Not to mention the fact that he wouldn't be able to see where he was going even if his limbs managed to hold up under the strain.

They hit the water. It was so cold that Alfred almost lost his breath right there. Somehow, he managed to hold it in, and he ended up clinging to Ivan as the river began to drag them quickly downstream. By the time the Germans got the bank, they were already long gone, and Alfred could just hear their frustrated yells over the sound of the rushing water. Alfred had to commend Ivan again. The Russian was _strong._ Despite the fact that he was holding two other full grown men, he was still managing to keep himself about the surface.

Alfred heard someone sputtering off to the side, and he realized it was Mattie. "Matt, are you okay?"

Matthew attempted to reply, but all Alfred heard was a gurgle. "Ivan, my brother!"

"Is fine. Your cousin has him."

Alfred could do nothing but dearly hope that was the truth, and he clung tightly to Ivan. He had wanted to escape from this man only minutes earlier, but between the Germans and the Russians, well…the Russians technically _were_ allies. So Alfred chose to go with the lesser of two evils this time around. After several minutes of floating downstream, Alfred felt Ivan begin to kick at an angle, and soon, he felt his own feet brushing the muddy bottom of the river as Ivan began to drag them out.

Ivan's now raspy voice rang out. "To _this_ side, damn it!" Alfred wasn't sure what he was referring to, then he realized.

"Wait, where are Arthur and Mattie?"

"On the _opposite_ bank." Ivan answered angrily. "The side where the Germans are." He raised his voice. "Get over here!"

"We'll find a shallow crossing somewhere downstream!" Alfred heard Arthur yell back. "We can't swim anymore! Matthew is injured and tired!"

Ivan spat angrily. "Have it your way." He finally sat Alfred down, and Alfred let out a relieved breath. Everyone was alive. Everyone was okay. Some people were a little bruised and battered and choking up a little water, but they had all made it. And they needed to keep moving, too, if they were to get away from the SS officers for good.

"We'll go on ahead!" Arthur's voice stretched across the river one more time. Alfred felt momentarily panicked. He didn't want Mattie and Arthur to leave him again. Sighing, he shook his head and tried to rationalize. They were just on the other side of the river. They were right _there_. Ivan suddenly prodded him.

"Come on, now. We need to keep moving, da?"

Alfred was wet and cold and shaking, but he imagined Ivan was just about ready to drop dead after all he had done, and yet, he kept going. Alfred was highly impressed, though he made sure to swear to himself that he'd never admit that to the damned Russian.

"Toris, did you lose any bags along the way?" Ivan asked, voice weary but still in command.

"No, Ivan. I got them all." Toris answered, sounding even wearier than Ivan. But there was a hint of pride in his voice, and for some reason, it made Alfred's blood run cold.

"Good, let us get going then, da?" Ivan ordered.

But Alfred wouldn't budge. "Toris…are you okay?"

He could _feel_ Toris' devastating smile. "I am…afraid not, Mr. Alfred."

"What?" Ivan asked.

"Ivan, I am afraid you will have to continue without me. I am sorry to have let you down, but I can no longer carry the bags."

"Toris, what are you…" He trailed off, and Alfred knew exactly why.

Ludwig let out a shaky breath. "You've been shot…"

"Toris…" For once, Ivan sounded like he was at a complete loss. "Ah…I am sure we can get the bullet out. Let me get you on more solid ground and—"

"No, Ivan. You will go on. If you linger, the Germans will catch up."

"Toris, I will _not_ leave you. You have been at my side for _seven_ years. I refuse to—"

"I apologize, Ivan, sincerely. But I am afraid I can no longer follow your orders, my comrade." Toris' voice sounded even weaker, and Alfred was forced to acknowledge the truth.

Toris was dying right in front of them.

He heard a thud and realized that Ivan had fallen to his knees. "_Nyet_, I cannot…" His voice faded out, and for the very first time, Alfred realized that Toris was more than a dog to Ivan, more than the pack mule that Ivan pretended he was, more than a sidekick to a powerful spy. Toris was Ivan's _friend_.

Toris whispered something in Russian, and Ivan pounded his fist into the ground. "Do not say that to me! Do not dare to say such a thing to me!"

Toris let out a weak, fading laugh. "It has been my honor to be by your side this long, comrade Braginsky, but as it is my time to go, I feel it…I feel it is necessary only…for me to tell the truth."

Ivan growled back something in Russian.

"_Da._ That is true." Toris' voice became softer with each word. "And it has…always…been….true…"

"Toris?"

Alfred's knees felt weak.

"Toris?"

He could feel the tears gathering at the corners of his gauze-covered eyes.

"Toris…"

* * *

**Dro: **I don't think I've felt this bad about a death in a long time. But, Toris is just such a _nice_ guy, so maybe that has something do with it. Of course, it might just be my shock that _holy fucking hell!_ Ivan has _feelings_! -explodes-

**Next Chapter: **Arthur and an injured Matthew are finally forced to confront one another as they try to find a way to cross the river. Meanwhile, the SS begins to catch up with them, and they are faced with a dilemma. That ends in a completely unexpected way.


	35. Of Reconciliation & Resurrection

**Dro: **I have nothing to say about this chapter other than "You're welcome."

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur and Matthew have a confrontation where their true emotions finally come to light. Too bad it's interrupted by the SS. Though it does end in a rather surprising way.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro does not and will probably never own APH. Oh, woe is me.

* * *

Matthew stumbled for what had to have been the hundredth time in the last ten minutes alone. He'd badly twisted his ankle at some point during the escape, and he could barely put pressure on it. He was sure it was either broken or very badly sprained, and it had nearly caused him to drown. But once again, he owed his life to Arthur, who had saved him without hesitation. Despite the fact that Arthur apparently despised his very existence now, it still appeared the British man had a conscience left. Or at least some lingering bit of familial feelings toward him.

He leaned heavily on Arthur now, his arm slung over the man's shoulder. Arthur was huffing and puffing, Matthew's larger body beginning to sap his energy from him. Matthew would have liked very much to relieve Arthur of his support job, but unfortunately, he was in no position to walk on his own. Not to mention he was incredibly light-headed at the moment from his near death drowning experience. How many near death scenarios had he been in now? He'd lost count of combat experiences long ago on the front. But now he was wracking up an entire list of close calls that didn't even have anything to with fighting enemy soldiers on the field.

"Matthew. Are you all right?" Arthur asked, panting.

Matthew frowned. "Okay." He answered bluntly. He felt Arthur stiffen, but he refused to do anything to remedy the situation. Arthur had been acting strange today, and it was making him more and more worried. He'd been surprised that the man had volunteered to speak with him so much earlier, and he had a lot of suspicions about what may have happened to the British man to change his opinions. Or at least clean up his act. He hadn't confirmed anything yet, and he knew doing so would have to wait until they were out of danger. As it was, they were on the very wrong side of a river in a very bad situation that could quickly take a turn for the worse. So he let Arthur drag him along the muddy bank without saying another word.

Al and the others had disappeared from sight a long while ago, and Matthew was starting to worry about them. Logically, he figured they were probably a lot safer than he and Arthur were, considering their greater number and the fact that they were on the more favorable side of the river. But that couldn't stop him from worrying. Nothing could stop him from worrying about Al, not in this day and age, not in this situation. He had learned from recent experiences that he _always_ needed to worry about Al.

His mind conjured up an image of Ivan, and growled under his breath, startling Arthur. "Something wrong, Matthew?" He asked, a slight tremble in his voice.

"No." He answered. He almost felt bad for being so cold, but after the things Arthur had said to him, he figured the man deserved a little grief. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of Ivan, but the memories just wouldn't go away. How many times had he replayed through their sexual encounters now? As disgusting as the thought of whoring himself to Ivan had originally been, he couldn't deny that there had been some shred of curiosity there. He was vaguely beginning to understand this strange attraction he had to other men, and of course, one of things he'd been forced to consider was sex. A lot of his initial assumptions had been dead wrong. He hadn't felt disgusted to the point of nausea while having sex with the Russian (as he'd originally guessed), though he had pictured himself with an…alternate…partner during parts of…it. It _had_ hurt though. He'd at least been right on one point. In fact, his ass was still hurting from their encounter the night before.

"Matthew, are you sure you're all right?" Arthur sounded deeply concerned, and Matthew couldn't help but ask the question that had been bugging him the entire day.

"Why the sudden turn-around, Arthur? You haven't wanted to speak to me since I kissed you. You basically threw away our entire relationship, and you made it incredibly clear that you find me repulsive. So why are you so keen on talking to me now, huh?"

He glanced at the smaller man and realized he'd gone pale. "Uh…well. You see…that is…Oh, bloody hell.." He stuttered. He shook his head, his still damp blond hair clinging to his face. "I can't get anything past you, can I?"

Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Matthew, I saw you and the Russian."

Matthew stopped dead, nearly costing them both their balance. "What?" He asked harshly.

Arthur swallowed. "Last night. I saw you and the Russian…I saw you…Damn it all! I saw you having sex, Matthew!"

Matthew slipped out of Arthur's grasp and stumbled until his back met a tree. "You…you _what_?" His coherency had shattered, and his mind was trying to process a million pieces of a billion different thoughts, all of them blaring warning sirens. "How…How could you…How _did_ you…?"

Arthur's lips moved without words for several seconds. "I…I didn't mean to, Matthew. I woke up and saw you were gone, and I managed to find you…and…and…Good _God_, Matthew. I can't believe you would…I can't believe you would give your body to that man. For _any_ reason."

Matthew's reality suddenly came to him with absolute clarity. "I would give it to a thousand people for Al's sake."

Arthur's eyes widened considerably. "Oh…I mean…I know he's your brother, but…but why didn't you come to me? We could've made some kind of plan to…I don't know, _protect_ him."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "You had just told me you hated me, Arthur. Did you honestly think I would come to you? For anything? I came up with a solution, and I implemented it myself. I didn't need your help or your approval, and I still don't."

Arthur took a step toward him. "Matthew…I…I can't let this go on. I can't continue on knowing what that bastard is doing to you."

"It's a private agreement, Arthur. It's none of your business." He answered curtly.

Arthur exploded. "The hell it's not! You and Alfred are the closest family I have in this entire god-damned world! And I'll be damned if I allow some Russian bastard to defile you like this!"

Matthew countered calmly. "Why do you even care what I do, Arthur? Aren't I just a disgusting homosexual to you now?"

Arthur recoiled like he'd been hit. "_No_! Never! I could _never_ think of you like that!" His lower lip trembled. "What I said to you…I…I didn't mean any of that, Matthew. I was…I was _scared_. I was scared that this would ruin our family. I was scared of…of myself. I didn't know what to think or feel, and I…I defaulted to rejection because I didn't know what else to do. And I _know_ that was wrong, Matthew. I do. I swear. And I'm _sorry_." His voice became choked, and Matthew realized that Arthur was on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry." He dropped to his knees. "I…the things I said to you…they were beyond any defense at all. I'll understand if you never want to have any sort of relationship with me again. I do. Really I do. But…but please. Please don't think I hate you. I could _never_ hate you." His voice became a whimper. "Never."

Matthew shifted, unsure of how to proceed. He hadn't expected Arthur to outright apologize. Arthur hated apologies, and he was terrible at them. He had a very hard time expressing feelings other than anger and irritation. It was just how he'd grown up. And Matthew had always understood that. But now…now it had taken on a whole other meaning. Arthur had released his anger for the moment, and he stood there with his pure, raw feelings visibly displayed for anyone to see, something that Matthew was sure he'd never seen in his entire life.

"Arthur, I…" He staggered forward, his injured ankle nearly sending him to the ground. But he maintained his balance long enough to meet Arthur in the middle and grab his shoulders for support.

"You don't have to say anything at all, Matthew."

"No…I do. I just…I need to apologize, too. I know that I just dumped all my feelings onto you out of nowhere. And I'm sorry for that. I should have talked to you about this gradually instead of just kissing you out of the blue like that."

Arthur shook his head. "No. Even with that concession, my reaction was still all wrong." Their eyes met. "Matthew, I really care about you. I've loved you like a brother since the day we met. And…this…this is completely unknown territory for me. _But_…But I have often been in unknown territory for much of my military career, and I think I can manage such a situation at least once more. I just need some _time_. Time to decipher my own feelings. Time to consider what this would mean for us. Time that, right now, we just don't have. But _God_ how I wish we did. I want to sit down with you and talk this out for hours upon hours, but…"

"I understand." He smiled sadly. "This is a lot to absorb in a very short amount of time. And…And this was just a terrible time for me to realize these…weird feelings of mine. And I probably should have kept it to myself until we were at least out of Nazi territory."

Arthur took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes…so…can we, for right now, until we are out of immediate danger, agree to hold off on discussion of this? Don't get me wrong. I _want_ to talk about this. More than anything else. But—"

"But we are currently trapped in enemy territory and could die at any moment." He chuckled softly. "Tell you what. If you can agree to keep me going on my injured leg until we're out of danger, then I'll agree to keeping this little issue under wraps until we're in a more favorable situation to speak of it. How's that?"

Arthur smiled, appearing immensely relieved. "I can work with that." He wrapped his arms around Matthew in a tight embrace, and Matthew returned the gesture.

"Glad to have you back, Arthur." He whispered into the man's ear.

"You have no idea how much I return that sentiment." Arthur murmured back as they pulled away from—

A stray bullet bit into the tree that Matthew had leaned against only minutes prior, breaking both of them out of their moment. Matthew realized they'd spent far too much time stationary. His stomach churned as he saw three officers round a curve on the shore and come running at them, guns raised. _Shit, there's no way we can escape with me in this condition._

"Arthur, run!" He commanded.

Arthur stared at him, horrified. "I will _not_ leave you here!"

"This isn't up for discussion." A bullet hit the sand just in front of his feet. "Go!" He took off himself, heaving his injured body into the woods. Arthur, startled and confused, remained frozen for a second longer before a barrage of bullets sent him into a frenzy. Matthew watched him quickly flee down the river bank as one of the men pursued, preventing him from rounding back for Matthew. Hoping the officers would go for him instead of Arthur, he slowly made his way through the thick woods. He could hear two of them catching up to him, and he realized that they had taken the bait. Arthur, able and swift, was a much harder target to catch. Why go for the faster one when the weaker of the two could give you the same information?

He hauled himself around a wide tree and sank down, releasing his hold on his injured leg. He leaned back against the rough bark, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the sharp throbbing pain in his leg. The officers would be on him any second, and he let himself slump in defeat. How many times was this now that he'd ended up in Nazi custody? He'd lost count. He closed his eyes just as the two men closed in on him. A gun skirted along his cheek, and he tried not to flinch. One of them mumbled in German, and Matthew let his eyes open a crack. They were both sneering down at him like he was filth, and he probably was in their eyes.

One of them nodded, and the other one crouched down and quickly patted him for weapons. Finding nothing, the man hauled him to his feet. He hissed as his injured ankle hit the ground. They finally seemed to notice he was injured, and they both picked a side, hoisting one of Matthew's arms over their shoulders and forcing him to walk along with them. Matthew glanced back and forth between them, puzzled. He'd expected much worse treatment. Granted, not all SS were quite the same, as he'd realized from Ludwig and Gilbert, but the last few times he'd been captured, he hadn't exactly been treated with any sort of care at all.

About half an hour later, they came to a line of vehicles surrounded by all manner of SS officers and a few regular soldiers. Matthew's vision was wavering by that point. He was wet and shivering and his leg was still in pain. But the officers continued to lug him along until they'd secured him inside one of their trucks. Those two stepped back, allowing two others to fill their places. One sat on each side of him, and another hopped into the driver's seat. No one cuffed him or tied him up or put a gun to his head, and he was personally surprised they hadn't beat him up more for good measure. He had no clue where they were taking him or why, but by the time they arrived in a town just ten minutes down the road, he was thoroughly convinced that _something_ was going on. It made sense that the SS would come after a Soviet spy that had kidnapped one of its officers. It made no sense that they would calmly and non-violently escort a non-German man who could easily be this spy's accomplice to a town for—what was gradually appearing to be—medical treatment.

Sure enough, he was helped into some kind of small clinic, where a doctor and a few nurses immediately began to look over him. At some point, his consciousness got away from him because the next time he opened his eyes, it was early the next morning. His leg was, surprisingly, not in a cast but merely a splint, though someone had been kind enough to leave a pair of crutches for him.

Which made no sense.

Because he was almost sure he'd been captured by the SS. Kindness was generally out of their range when it came to the treatment of prisoners. He stared at his leg for a long while, shaking his head every now and then. It took him several minutes of confusion before he even realized that someone else was in the room with him. He jumped as the man shifted in his seat by the window, and he snapped his head toward the man.

Then he froze.

His brain slowly processed the image before him. The man was dressed in black, though he wore civilian clothing. His black boots were polished to a dull shine. His dark slacks looked brand new. His coat appeared equally new, the black fabric and silver buttons in top condition. The most striking things about the man, however, were not his clothing choices. The first was his lack of a right arm, the sleeves on his coat—which simply hung over his shoulders instead of actually being _on_—and his shirt covering only an empty space. The second was the bandage that covered the right side of his face. The stark white gauze washed his pale face and hair out even more, giving him a ghost-like appearance that was only exponentially increased by his dark garments.

And the last thing…

The last thing was that this man was Gilbert Beilschmidt.

* * *

**Dro: **I was wondering how long you all would speculate about him being alive. Some of you did stick with it. I was surprised!

**Next Chapter:** Alfred faces a side of Ivan that he never imagined existed and finds himself at a complete loss of what to do.


	36. Of Regret & Circumstance

**Dro: **And here comes another chapter. You know, I didn't expect this to be quite this long...Hm...Anyway, have at it!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred is forced to deal with a side of Ivan he never knew existed. Then, someone unexpected (or is it expected?) arrives.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro is too lazy to even do exercise, much less make the millions necessary to purchase the rights to APH.

* * *

Ivan was silent, and that fact made Alfred more nervous than he'd ever been around the man before. Ludwig—who Ivan had actually let walk _free_—was holding his hand, guiding him along the riverbank as they trailed slowly behind the towering Russian. Toris' body, Alfred knew from Ludwig, had been wrapped in Ivan's coat and was now cradled in the man's arms. Ivan had seemed to dismiss the two of them completely, and now he was acting like they didn't exist at all. He hadn't made a single move to acknowledge them. Alfred had honestly considered just leaving with Ludwig, but…he just couldn't.

Maybe it was Toris himself. Alfred had liked Toris. Toris was a decent person, kind, gentle, loyal. And he had probably been such to Ivan since the day the pair had met. Which meant this had to have hurt the Russian. Ivan made himself seem untouchable, but he was human just like everyone else, and it was starting to show. Ludwig abruptly tugged him to the right, and Alfred realized that Ivan had changed direction. An alarm went off in his head.

"Ivan, if we leave the river, Arthur and Mattie won't be able to find us."

Ivan made no response, and Ludwig slowed to a stop. "What do you want to do?" He asked quietly.

Alfred thought quickly. They hadn't seen any sign of Arthur and Matt yet, so maybe they could get away with this for at least a few minutes. "Let's go. I want to keep an eye on him."

Ludwig hesitated. "We could escape from him."

Alfred considered this but dismissed the idea. "He's already freed you. I'm sure you're more than skilled enough to escape from him with time to prepare, yeah? And he knows that. I just really don't think he cares." And that was another question. Why did Alfred care? His brother and cousin were out there somewhere, and yet, he had this unending compulsion to follow Ivan. "I just…I just want to see what he's going to do."

Ludwig conceded. "Fine. So be it." He began to lead Alfred again, and the ground shifted from sandy and muddy to hard and grassy. Alfred realized they'd ended up in a field after a few more minutes of walking, and he suddenly realized what Ivan was going for.

"Oh…"

Ludwig came to the same conclusion. "He's going to bury him." Ludwig pulled him forward a few more feet before stopping again. It had been a long while since Alfred had actively wished to see, but now he wanted it more than anything. He could hear Ivan begin to dig a grave for Toris, but he couldn't see what was happening, and that upset him. He wanted to bear witness to Toris being put to rest, but again, he was prohibited from experiencing such a thing. He would have to make do with just sound. Like usual these days. He clenched his left hand into a tight fist, biting down hard on his lip. He had never gotten to see Toris' face. He had only a vague outline of what the man looked like. He knew the man's personality, his voice, the way he moved and acted. But he would never know how Toris smiled or how his eyes expressed his feelings. He would never actually get to see the hands that helped him or how Toris' kindness permeated the man's entire demeanor.

And, he knew, he would never again see such things with any other person he met. He was barred from doing so. He—

Ludwig's hand slipped out of his own, and he turned his head to the right. "Ludwig?"

He heard the man step forward. "Do you need help?"

Ivan's digging stopped, and the sound that emerged from his mouth was more a feral growl than anything else. "Not from _you_."

Not from a Nazi, he meant. But Ludwig refused to acknowledge it. "I am sorry about your friend. He did not deserve such a death—" A sudden rustle of fabric accompanied a harsh choking sound from Ludwig's throat.

It took Alfred several moments to process what had just happened. "Ivan, stop! He just wants to help you!"

"I do not need help from a Nazi bastard! It is _you_ who cost me Toris! You! You are filth! You are—!" A fierce smack cut him off, and he reeled backward, releasing Ludwig's abused throat. Ludwig choked for several seconds. Alfred stood motionless, amazed that not only had he managed to find Ivan's face but also that he had actually managed to slap the man in the first place. He would not have been so bold only minutes ago. But he would not allow someone to hurt Ludwig. Ludwig had been hurt enough, and much of it had been indirectly Alfred's fault. Ludwig had sought to protect him, had saved his life, had nurtured him back to health. It was only fair that he return the favor.

"Ivan, stop." He calmly commanded. "If Ludwig was just another Nazi, would he still be here? No, he would have fled back to the other officers and given them your position. But he didn't. He's still here. He's still here even though you've kept him in captivity. He's still here even though you've threatened to torture him. He is not _them_. He is not a mindless killing machine. And you _know_ that. Unlike me, Ivan, you are not blind. And you should able to see Ludwig's nature much better than I can. He didn't want Toris to die any more than you did." He sank to knees, searching for Ivan's face. When he found it, he cupped the man's cheeks, gently caressing the one he'd smacked with his thumb. "I understand what Toris meant to you, Ivan. Mattie and Arthur…they mean the same to me. They're irreplaceable. They're all the family I have in the world. And I don't pretend to know what you've been through. Not at all. But I do know that Toris meant a lot to you, that he was your constant companion for years on end. So I _get it_, Ivan. Both of us do. When you care about someone like I care about Mattie and Arthur or like Ludwig cared about his brother, it…" He sighed. "When something happens to them, it does things to you.

"But you're stronger than that, Ivan. You're far too strong to let this stop you, and you know very well that Toris wouldn't want you to fall apart. He was as dedicated to you as you are to your country, your job, your purpose. He wanted to help you succeed in everything you did. So don't let him down. If you let yourself fall apart here, you won't be able to go on. You—"

A thumb pressed against his lips, silencing him. "I know…" Ivan whispered. "I know." He repeated. "I know." Shakily, he rose to his feet, pulling Alfred up with him. "I…need…help…with it."

Ludwig, who was apparently stunned at the display, finally seemed to snap out of it. "Of course." Alfred backed away and listened closely. The pair of them began to painstakingly dig the makeshift grave, and Alfred slowly relaxed. He'd had no clue if trying to rationalize with Ivan would work or not. The Russian was unpredictable, and he was unsure of how to deal with him while he was in this emotional state. He hadn't even been sure Ivan was _capable_ of this emotional state, but now he was starting to realize that all his perceptions about the man may have been dead wrong. What if this was what Ivan was hiding under the surface? All those scars, all that obvious mental damage that had been done. What if Ivan's sarcastic, sadistic front was just a thin mask that veiled _this_. What it he was really this unstable? Alfred had been approaching Ivan as if he was a vindictive bastard through and through. But he wasn't, was he?

He was a man that had faced the darkest sides of humanity and lived to tell the tale. But how much of someone could really survive all that had Ivan had been through? Alfred wasn't even sure he could've gone on to live at all after such torture. So how had Ivan? _Was_ this even the real Ivan? What if Ivan had been a completely different man before everything? What if this was just an unstable remnant that had been left behind when the rest of the man had shattered?

And if that was so, then how did Alfred deal with this? Toris' death was obviously a trigger for Ivan. What if he didn't get better? What if he stayed this way? What if…Alfred stopped himself mid-thought. Why was he acting like he was going to stay with Ivan? Ivan was his _captor_. Ivan had taken his loved ones hostage. Ivan had threatened to do so many terrible things to them all. So why…why was he acting like Ivan was someone worthy of staying beside? Ivan was not his friend. Ivan was just…

What _was_ Ivan to him?

A hoarsely whispered Russian prayer brought him from his thoughts, and he listened intently at the string of words he did not know. Alfred realized they'd finished, and he felt another pang of guilt. They were going to leave Toris' body in a shallow grave in the middle of enemy territory. He didn't deserve such a dismal final resting place, but it was all they could offer him right now. The SS was probably still looking for them. They never seemed to stop. So they had little time. Not to mention they'd been here for nearly an hour. Arthur and Mattie were probably wondering what had happened to them. If they failed to find each other, that would create a whole other mess that he just couldn't deal with.

Ivan continued to murmur in Russian for several more minutes. Neither Alfred nor Ludwig dared to speak. When he was finished, Alfred waited and listened to the sound of Ivan and Ludwig covering Toris' body. He didn't even get a casket…

The sound of rapid footsteps startled them all, and Ludwig and Ivan picked up the pace, patting the dirt down quickly. The next thing he knew, someone had grabbed his arm was hauling him along. He found himself wedged between the two men in the thick brush of the forest. Something clicked, and Alfred realized that Ivan had pulled out a gun. The he realized something else. There was only _one_ set of footsteps.

"There's just one?" He whispered out loud.

"Strange." Ludwig agreed.

Ivan said nothing, but Alfred felt him shift as he raised his gun. Then a sound caught his ears. The man running toward the grassy field was panting hard, a low groan emerging from his lips every few seconds. In a voice that Alfred very much recognized.

Ivan's arm tensed just before he pulled the trigger, and Alfred pushed him as hard as he could, knocking him over. The crack of the gun echoed throughout the entire clearing, and the next thing Alfred heard made his blood run cold. Arthur screamed in pain.

_Arthur_.

"Arthur!" He leapt up from the brush. "Oh God, are you okay?" He tried to make his way out of the thick vines and bushes, but he tripped. God, oh, God, why did he have to be blind? But then, a miracle. Ludwig strong arms wrapped around him and hauled him back up, leading him through the hazardous vines and back out into the clearing, picking up his pace as they grew close to the sound of Arthur's low, pained moans.

"Arthur!" He sank to his knees just in front of his cousin. "Arthur, where did it hit you?"

"S-shoulder…" He groaned out.

"Ludwig…" He pleaded.

"It is all right. I do not believe it is lethal."

"Who the hell cares if it's lethal? I've got a bullet in my bloody shoulder!"

Alfred heard the rustling of the forest behind him, and he turned around in anger. "You shot Arthur!" He accused.

Ivan's voice was still hoarse. "I did not know it was him. He…his face was not visible to me."

"That's not an excuse!"

"Alfred, stop!" Arthur said. Alfred froze mid-yell. "We…we have a bigger problem than this."

He spun around. "What?"

It was then that he finally noticed his brother's absence. "Arthur, where's Mattie?"

Arthur's tired voice shrank to a mere whisper. "They got him." He sighed. "The SS got him. I couldn't protect him, Alfred. I failed. I let them take him. I…"

Silence stifled the around them, and Alfred felt like he was suffocating. He didn't notice he was crying until a loud sob choked its way out of his throat. They had Matt. The SS had Matt. Oh, God…the things they'd do to his brother. He jumped as a hand grasped his own.

Ludwig.

"We will get him back. If it is the last thing I do, Alfred, I will get your brother back."

* * *

**Dro: **You know, I don't see this ending very well...

**Next Chapter:** Matthew and Gilbert have a chat. Gilbert has a plan. Matthew isn't sure he likes it very much.


	37. Of Relief & Anxiety

**Dro:** I love writing Prussia. He amuses me so. Anyway, have at it!

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew and Gilbert have a chat. Gilbert has a plan. Matthew isn't sure he likes it.

**Warnings:** Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro is refusing to allow herself to buy anything for the next several months. Sadly...

* * *

He had stared at Gilbert Beilschmidt as if the man was a ghost since he'd first awoken. It was immensely surreal to see a dead man walking, his voice still as animated as every, his arrogance still ramped up on high. Gilbert had been talking to him for several hours—from the moment he'd opened his eyes to their move from the clinic to the SS officers' base of operations—but Matthew had missed most of the things he had said. His ears seemed to have ceased functioning, and his brain absorbed nothing but the image of the German man before him. He honed in on the blank space where Gilbert's right arm had been, and he couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him. At first, he had thought he'd left the man to die while he escaped, and while this was _so much better_ than that scenario, he couldn't help but feel slightly responsible that the man had lost a limb saving him.

"—thew. Matthew!" Gilbert snapped his fingers, and Matthew jumped.

"Yes?"

He snorted. "You 'ave not heard a vord I said, 'ave you?"

Matthew cleared his throat and turned his head, trying to hide his reddening cheeks. "I'm sorry. It's just…You're _alive_. After all that's happened since you…since we thought you were dead…it…To have you come back is just…"

Gilbert shook his head. "I understand. Really. It vas a surprise to me too. You know vhat it is like to vake up and 'ave everyone tell you that you vere the _only_ survivor?"

"The only one?" Matthew stared. There had been many people in that house, and Gilbert had been the sole survivor of the fire?

He nodded. "Ja. The _only_ one. They pulled me out from underneath a segment of roof, missing a few parts, obviously, but…still breathing."

"That's amazing." Matthew replied breathlessly. And it really was. Gilbert had to be one of the luckiest men alive. So many soldiers were being killed day after day, some from nothing more than stray bullets or tiny pieces of shrapnel. And yet Gilbert had survived being trapped in a burning house that had literally _exploded_. Matthew was honestly surprised he didn't look _worse _than he currently did. He still had his hair, and his face, besides the mostly gauze-covered right side, was devoid of burns. He had come out of that house relatively unscathed, especially considering everyone else had not made it out all. "You're…you're really something else."

Gilbert grinned. "You just figured that out?"

Matthew snorted. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

"And I never vill. You can bet on that, too." He chuckled.

"And what makes you so confident, huh?"

"Because I am awesome!" He exclaimed.

Matthew blinked. "What?"

"Awesome! Alfred taught it to me, the vord. I used it right, ja? Awesome? I am awesome?"

Matthew held in his laugh for all of two seconds. "Y-yeah! I guess you sort of are!" He hadn't laughed so light-heartedly in _months_, he realized. He admired Gilbert for that ability, the ability to make those around him laugh and smile. His mirth was almost contagious in a way.

A new doctor, who'd apparently accompanied the SS to this town, came in then, and they both went silent. Matthew listened to the doctor prattle on in German, Gilbert nodding every few moments. When he finally replied, Matthew found himself desperately wishing he spoke German. He still hadn't got around to asking Gilbert just how he'd convinced the SS to not tied him up and torture him to death. The doctor quickly checked his leg over for a few seconds before excusing himself, and Matthew turned to Gilbert expectantly.

"He said you vill be fine. Just take it easy." He groaned slightly. "And the others are asking for me, vanting to know vhat valuable _intelligence_ I 'ave learned."

"Huh?" was the only thing Matthew could come up with.

"Oh, right. Forgot to tell you. I, uh, may 'ave lied and told the SS you vere an informant from France."

He stared. "You did _what_?"

"Vell, it vas either that or I tell them you are an enemy spy so they von't kill you immediately. But since ve already vent that route and it ended vith me in an exploding house, I did not vant to really try that again." He pursed his lips. "Do not vorry! I 'ave got this under control!"

Matthew tried to wrap his head around this. "Wait, if you told them I was one of _your_ informants, then why did they shoot at me and Arthur?"

He coughed and grinned sheepishly. "Vell, I figured if I told them there vas more than one informant, then they vould get suspicious, so I just said _you_ vere an informant and enemy spies had blackmailed you vith your hurt brother."

"So, let me get this straight. You said _Arthur_ was an enemy?"

"Ja…I know!" He held up his hand in defeat. "I know. Not the _best_ plan, but I vas pretty sure they vould keep your friend around long enough for me to make an escape plan for him."

"And you could have used the same plan with me."

He frowned. "Vell…I thought it vas better this vay."

"Why?" Matthew asked indignantly.

Gilbert stared at him for several moments before letting out a loud sigh. "I…" He sounded embarrassed. "I did not vant you to get hurt."

Matthew opened his mouth to retort but stopped as he realized the implications of that statement. He felt his cheeks begin to warm, and he turned away, trying to push back the image of Gilbert kissing him that was steadily working its way back up into his conscious mind. "Oh…"

The silence was stifling.

Gilbert suddenly slammed his hand on the table. "_Anyvay_…are you hungry?"

"Um…sure?"

"Okay. I vill go get you food then?" He shot up and slipped out the door before Matthew had another chance to speak.

He fell back on the bed, staring at the doorway Gilbert had disappeared into. _This is going to be a long day, isn't it?_ His thoughts gradually returned to Arthur, and he prayed that the man had safely escaped from the SS. He would never forgive himself if Arthur had been gunned down while he'd been spirited off to safety with hardly a scratch. He glanced at his leg, wondering how long it would take him to recover from his injury. He knew he should have asked the doctor, but he was slightly afraid he could ruin whatever ruse Gilbert had going on if he said too much. He tried to glue "Speak French!" into the forefront of his mind and hoped for the best. Gilbert was a man who took risks, he had quickly figured out. And he could only hope the man's gambit played out in their favor.

Of course, he had no clue what Gilbert's entire plan was yet. He made sure to make that his primary question. He needed to the know the intricate details of this if he was to play his part right. On cue, Gilbert returned, balancing a tray of food on his palm. He placed it on the bed and sat down next to Matthew.

"Good enough, I hope." The food wasn't much, but Matthew didn't complain. He was starving. He dug in, listening as Gilbert began to elaborate on his little ploy. "Vell, here is vhat I said. Vhen they told me that they had begun to track a group of mysterious people and that a civilian had seen my _bruder_ among them, I came up vith this little plan. I said, my _bruder_ must 'ave been kidnapped by these _spies_, as ve had just come into contact with a French informant. So, I helped them track you to here, hoping that I could get you and Alfred and your cousin back." He nodded. "That vas about it."

Matthew shook his head slowly, sipping at a glass of water. "And what if some officers come along to question me about my supposed _information?_ What am I supposed to say?"

Gilbert nodded, a smug smirk crossing his face. He dug around in his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Matthew. "Use these. Took them off a _real_ informant."

Matthew unfolded the paper, realizing it was a listing of troop movements. He frowned. "This could put my allies in danger, you know?"

He snorted. "Your allies are already in danger, and so are you. If ve can get you and Alfred and your cousin out of Germany, then at least one party vill be _out of_ danger."

Matthew was tempted to point out the flaws in his reasoning, but he let it go. His primary goal in coming to Germany in the first place had been to retrieve his brother and return him home safely, and that was still his goal. He gripped the piece of paper tightly. How many laws had he already broken? And how many more would he break? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to either of those questions. Regardless, he hid the piece of paper in his shirt and fell back on the bed, sighing.

"Are you okay?"

He wasn't sure how to reply to that. There were a lot of things that _weren't_ okay here. He was happy that Gilbert was alive. There was no doubt about that. But he questioned Gilbert's judgment. Granted, Gilbert's didn't know that…

"Hey, Gilbert, do you know who the man we were all traveling with is?"

Gilbert tilted his head to the side. "A Russian spy, right? Ve 'ave been trailing him for several days now. He _did_ kidnap my _bruder_, ja?"

Matthew figured it was a bit more complicated than that, but he nodded curtly. "Yes. He sort of kidnapped all of us, but he decided to let Al, Arthur, and me go. However, we _willingly_ decided to go along with him toward Russia because Al refused to leave without freeing Ludwig first."

Gilbert grinned. "Did I ever mention I _really_ like Alfred?"

"Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it?"

Gilbert chuckled. "I guess it does."

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Gilbert rose to his feet, frowning. "I vas not expecting anyone." He mumbled. A chill shot down Matthew's spine, and he started pleading with God. _Please don't let this be another setback. I can't take anymore! I just can't. Please don't do this to me. _He watched anxiously as Gilbert headed for the door. The man hesitated before opening it.

And for good reason.

He dived out of the way just as the door burst open, and an armed man marched through the threshold, gun poised to shoot. He aimed it at Gilbert. Matthew froze. He _recognized_ this man. He almost hadn't at first, but he was sure of it now, sure he wasn't making a mistake. He _knew_ the man standing in front of him. And it appeared the man recognized him too. Because he gradually began to lower the gun, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Matthew, right?" He asked cautiously.

Matthew looked over him carefully. His clothing was in tatters. His face was bruised. He had several lacerations, some of them still bleeding, running down his neck and arms. His eyes were wide with adrenaline and panic, as if he'd just run right through a mine field. And perhaps he _had_ in a way. He looked like he'd been hit by several mortars. His breathing was incredibly labored, and Matthew was sure the poor man would collapse any second now. But instead, he stood up straight, as if attempting to appear like the intelligent, dignified, polite spy that Matthew had previously encountered.

Gilbert frantically glanced back and forth between them, obviously lost. "Um, vill someone explain vhat is going on here?"

"Personally, I would like to ask the same question." Both of them looked toward Matthew, as if they expected him to magically have all the answers.

The only thing he could do was shrug his shoulders and go for it. "Um, _this_ is Gilbert," he said, pointing to emphasize his point. "One of the men who saved Alfred and me." He met Gilbert's perplexed gaze. "And, Gilbert, _this_ is Eduard, a spy that works with the spy that kidnapped your brother."

Gilbert frowned deeply. "I see."

Eduard huffed. "I don't. Will someone explain to me just what the hell is happening here?"

"Um, I don't know." Matthew answered slowly. "What happened to you?"

Eduard laughed bitterly. "Well, one moment, I was sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. The next second I was being dragged out by the SS, who then beat me for information, knocked me out, and hauled me off with them to this place."

Matthew's head slowly titled downward, focusing on Gilbert. But Gilbert just shook his head. "I had no idea he vas here. I promise."

"Yes, well, if _I'm_ here, getting tortured. And _you're,_" he pointed at Matthew, "here getting…pampered. And _you,_" he said condescendingly to Gilbert, "didn't know about this…then what the hell is going on here?"

Matthew's throat had gone oddly dry. "Hey, Gilbert. How many officers went out to chase down my group?"

"Earlier? About sixteen people. It was a joint operation. Ve had gathered several groups for support for the 'rescue.'"

"Sixteen…" Eduard murmured. "About how many _total_ had gathered here?"

"About thirty. Vhy?"

All the blood drained from Eduard's face. "Because I just escaped. And I only came across four men in the entire complex."

"But…" Gilbert's face contorted with horror. "That…That _vasn't_ part of the plan."

* * *

**Dro: **Hey, look! I gave Estonia a role that wasn't completely inane! And as is standard with a role upgrade, he got a free "get severely injured to gain sympathy" pass. =D

**Next Chapter:** One Arthur, One Ivan, One Alfred, and One Ludwig. Versus twenty-seven SS officers. Uh oh...


	38. Of Acceptance & Rejuvination

**Dro:** I apologize for the two day absence. I needed a little break. I've been at my computer so much, it was starting to strain my already poor excuses for eyes. I had the worst headache the other way. I'm thinking I might need to take weekends off every now and then. (This is starting to sound like a job, isn't it?) Oh, and I also apologize for the story alert problems for **In the Shadow of Wonderland_. _**Did everyone get the alert? I had to add the chapter twice to get it to send one alert, then it sent out the original alert _today. _Ah, FF, you never cease to amaze me. And not in a good way.

Anyway, have at it!

**Chapter Summary: **One Alfred. One Ivan. One Arthur. One Ludwig. And twenty-seven SS officers.

**Warnings: **Violence; Language

**Disclaimer: **Since I did not win the lottery this week, you can pretty much bet this hasn't changed since last disclaimer.

* * *

They ran. Over hills. Through thick woods. They trampled over fragile field grasses and jumped streams. They ran until their lungs were burning for air, until their breathing was so loud and strained that it blocked all other sound around them. They ran for their lives, and it still wasn't enough. It seemed no matter which direction they ran, there were always more SS officers waiting for them. Shots came from everywhere, and they were constantly changing course, trying their best to lose their pursuers. But nothing was working. It became more and more obvious by the second that they were surrounded all on sides.

And Ludwig had no idea what to do about it.

Alfred decorated the Russian's back, his arms clinging tightly to the man. The Briton, though weary and injured, continued to run alongside him, never showing any sign of backing down. Ludwig flanked them, a gun he'd been so _graciously_ given by the spy already running low on bullets. Any possibility he had of claiming he was still working for the SS was long gone. He'd shot at many of them in plain sight already. And oddly, he didn't feel the slightest bit of remorse about that. They were coming to another clearing, and Ludwig could already tell a line of officers was waiting for them. They weren't going to escape this. There were too many. Even with the Russian's brute strength, there was no way they could survive such an onslaught.

It was either surrender or die.

Ludwig was honestly leaning toward death.

Living would only prolong their suffering. They could be gunned down and die quickly, or they could be carted off to the camps, tortured slowly to death…there were a million heinous things that could happen to them if they allowed themselves to be captured. So what did it matter if they made this a suicide run? They would die either way, and dying now was a much better prospect.

The others seemed to agree. The Briton's face was hard-lined and determined, grim acceptance in his eyes. The Russian glanced back at him briefly, seeming to silently commend him on his decision to betray the corrupt Nazi regime. If he hadn't been breathing so hard, he probably would have laughed. Just months ago, he never would have done something like this. Despite never being content, he'd been consistently complacent. Now, he wanted change. He wanted _everything_ to change. He wanted this war to end. He wanted Alfred to return home safely. He wanted the world to wipe this stain of corrupted government off the map and never allow it to return again.

But most of all, he wanted peace.

Peace was something he had not truly felt since the day he had betrayed Roderich. His heart and mind had been struck with constant doubt and torment. He had tortured himself into inaction and confusion. He'd let himself become lost, and at the time, he hadn't thought he _deserved_ a clear path. He'd become convinced he deserved the pain he felt, the turmoil. But now all that had changed. _He_ had changed. And he was ready for more.

And if this was his final act of repentance for the sins he'd committed, then he would accept his death _with_ the very peace he sought. And he would let his life slip away to wherever souls were spirited to. With no regret. His brother was waiting for him. Roderich and Elizaveta were waiting for him.

And Alfred…

Alfred deserved life.

And that would be his _only_ regret. His inability to allow Alfred to live the life he deserved. Alfred deserved to be waited on by fifty servants, to live like a king, to be treated like a savior. Because to Ludwig, he was. Alfred had changed him in ways he'd never imagined, and now he was going to fail to repay that debt. But if that was the way things had to be, then Ludwig would throw himself in the way of every bullet aimed at Alfred until his body could no longer move. And if Alfred did indeed follow him into death, then he vowed he would protect his soul for all of eternity.

They hit the clearing.

* * *

Arthur clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. But that ache was nothing compared to the pain in his shoulder. Ludwig had quickly dug the bullet out and patched him up with a makeshift bandage and sling before the officers had converged on them. But it hadn't been enough. He was still losing blood, though he was sure no one else had noticed it. It was getting dark, and blood was very close to invisible on dark clothing with this lack of light. He laughed bitterly to himself. Everyone was about to be shot to death, and here he was ahead of the pack.

He was beginning to feel lightheaded, but he forced himself to push onward. He had lost Alfred once, and he would not lose him again. He had already lost Matthew once more, and the way things were looking, it would be the final time as well. But he refused to just resign himself to a quick and painless death while Alfred was still here. He knew the poor boy felt helpless, and he knew it was driving him crazy. Because Alfred could not really fight in the condition he was in, and Arthur knew that if he was in the same situation, he would feel frustrated beyond all reason. He would feel like a useless waste of space, sitting by while his friends and loved ones were massacred. That was something that would tear him apart, and he hated to imagine such a thing. Yet that _had_ to be exactly how Alfred was feeling at this moment.

So he kept going, for Alfred's sake. Because Alfred deserved to go on, deserved to realize that he wasn't useless. He had more of an effect on people than he could possibly imagine. He had the ability to transform people without even touching them. Just being near him, just listening to him talk, just seeing the actions he made, the choices. Just those small things were enough to give another a complete metamorphosis. And it was something that only Alfred and Matthew could do. He had already forfeited Matthew, and he would be damned if he lost them both.

His grip on the gun tightened as they neared the clearing. He could barely see straight, but he would shoot every bullet he had at those bastards. He would shoot until he legs gave out on him. He would shoot until his fingers could no longer pull the trigger. He would shoot until his eyes could no longer see. He would shoot until the moment his heart stopped beating. And if he was still standing after he ran out of ammunition, then he would run full speed and tackle them to the ground. Because he would not stop until he was no more. For Alfred. For Ludwig even. Perhaps even for the Russian who had just lost an irreplaceable friend.

They were in this situation together, and it was likely they would all die. But he would not let that stop him from defending these people. Especially not these people. Just like his aversion to war had not stopped him trying his hardest to win it. Just like his aversion to close relationships had not stopped from forming unbreakable bonds with the brothers.

The only thing that would stop him now was death.

They entered the clearing, a line of ten officers waiting for them, guns raised.

* * *

Ivan forced his fatigued to body to keep moving, to keep supporting Alfred. This was inescapable situation, he knew, but that would not stop him from trying his best to protect the American boy. He had lost enough today. He had lost someone whose death would leave a hole in his heart. Toris' death would haunt him forever. He had used and abused the young man so much. He had taken Toris' constant presence for granted. And he had never truly appreciated the acts of kindness the Lithuanian had shown him.

Now Toris was gone.

And the only thing left of him was the example he had set. Selflessness. Toris had always done his best to protect everyone, even _enemies_ at some point. He sought to save anyone in which he saw even the remotest possibility of reform. He worked his hardest to encourage peace and nonviolence. At times it had worked. At times it had failed. But no matter how many hits Toris' philosophy of life had taken, he had always stood back up on his own two feet and continued walking.

Ivan had always been greedy. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and he was perfectly willing to _make sure_ he got whatever it was. He had committed countless atrocities in front of Toris, and the man had always been patient with him. And it wasn't that Ivan had not seen the error in his ways. He knew every breath he took was practically a sin. It had been that way for a long, long time. He had long lost any sense of morality or truth. He quite honestly just lost the ability to care.

Toris had been that one beacon that had prevented him from falling completely over the edge. And now that Toris was gone, what was he to do? What could he possibly do? There was a line of SS officers waiting just ahead of them. If he surrendered, he would be interrogated until he either divulged his secrets or died. If he surrendered, then God only knew what would become of Alfred. But if he refused to do so, then they would all die anyway.

_What would Toris do here?_ He asked himself that question over and over. And there was only one thing he could come up with.

Toris would fight to protect his allies until the very end.

And so that was what Ivan would do.

_For you, Toris._ _We will meet again soon, my friend._

They rushed into the clearing, a firing squad giving them only a brief second to surrender.

They did not.

And then, a miracle.

* * *

The ground beneath the officers exploded violently, sending many of them into air with lethal force. Ludwig watched, frozen, his gun still futilely raised for what was supposed to have been a very short fight. Most of them landed already dead. They stood there in shock, unsure of what had just happened or why.

"Hey, uh, what just…?" Alfred murmured.

"It almost looks like…mines?" Arthur attempted to answer. "Grenades? I…I have no idea."

The Russian tried to shake it off. "It does not matter. Many more are still pursuing us. We must—"

A grenade sailed out of the trees and landed a few feet away from them. Ludwig shouted for them to move, but it was too late. It blew up a mere second later, sending them all reeling from the shockwave. Ludwig felt shrapnel bite into his abdomen, and then he landed. Hard. He cried out at his armed cracked loudly, and he rolled several times before coming to a complete stop. His hearing and vision were warped for several seconds, and by the time he was able to stand again—still unbalanced—it was too late. An officer dashed out of the woods, gun waving around at the three of them.

The three of them.

Arthur, who was groaning in agony, the wound on his shoulder bleeding profusely, his face bloody from several deep lacerations.

Ivan, who was on his back, blood leaking from a nasty wound on his thigh were he'd landed on a sharp tree branch.

And himself, who could barely stand without tumbling over.

But…but where was…?

And then he saw him.

The officer seemed to have completely missed Alfred's presence, and Ludwig didn't dare to do anything to alert him to it. Not until Alfred did so himself.

The bandages over Alfred's eyes, now streaked with dirt and blood, hung loosely around his neck. Behind him, the sun had begun to sink into the horizon, illuminating Alfred's figure with an eerie orange glow. Ludwig felt like he was standing in the presence of the archangel Michael, his sword drawn and ready to slay Satan. Because Alfred had picked up a gun that someone had dropped. Despite the fact that he was blind. He had picked up a gun and walked up to the officer. Despite the fact that he was blind.

And when that officer realized someone was behind him, he slowly turned around.

And with no hesitation whatsoever, Alfred shot him in the head.

Despite the fact he was blind.

"Alfred…" He whispered.

Alfred swallowed. "I wasn't sure at first. I thought I was imagining things."

"…Alfred?"

"But then I realized…" Alfred looked at him.

Alfred _looked_ at him.

"I can see."

* * *

**Dro:** Ha! Who saw that coming? Anyone?

**Next Chapter: **The group continues their escape attempt but continues to run into more trouble. Until _someone_ shows up to save them. (Guess who?)


	39. Of Victory & Danger

**Dro:** Getting close the climax of this fic. Finally. I was afraid it was going to end up _too_ long. Just a couple more chapters until that defining moment. Anyway, have at it!

**Chapter Summary: **The group continues their escape attempt but keeps running into trouble. Then, an unexpected someone shows up.

**Warnings:** Language; Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro owns nothing except this plot. At least, I think I do...

* * *

Ludwig stumbled through the forest, Arthur's now unconscious form limply hunched on his back. He was sure he would pass out any moment, but every glimpse he caught of Alfred—Alfred, who could _see_—revitalized his drive to keep going. Ivan, hobbling alongside him, looked even worse off than himself, but the man showed no sign of slowing. Their pursuers were once again closing in on them, and they didn't have the time or the luxury of stopping to rest. Alfred seemed to the be the only one among them who wasn't seriously injured. Ivan's body had shielded him from the blast. He was currently leading them through thick brush, trying his best to throw off the SS.

It was from watching Alfred move that Ludwig came to a very quick conclusion. Alfred could _see_, but he could not see _well_. His shoulder kept clipping trees, his feet kept catching on vines, and Ludwig could plainly see the hesitation in most of his movements. He wasn't sure how bad Alfred's sight actually was, and if this had been any other situation, he would have been jumping for joy that Alfred could see at all. But at this moment, they needed Alfred to stay on his feet without their help. If he failed to see an officer aiming at him or tripped and injured his legs, then they were over. The Russian was no longer in any condition to carry Alfred, and if they stopped for one second too long, then they were bound to be caught.

However, he could not deny that he was just as worried about himself being felled by the perils surrounding them. He was lightheaded, and his balance was skewed. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep all this up. He wasn't sure how much longer Arthur could keep this up. He could feel the man's heartbeat against his back, and he could have sworn it was getting fainter and fainter. He'd lost a lot of blood, and his time was running out. And Ludwig had no idea how they were going to save him. Even if they somehow managed to get out of _this_, they didn't have the necessary medical supplies or training to save someone in such a critical condition. Arthur would probably be dead before they even made it out of the forest.

They would need a miracle to save them now.

"Down!" Alfred shouted.

Ludwig ducked without hesitation, and a barrage of bullets ate away at the trees just past him. He quickly shuffled forward, watching Alfred. That was something he'd forgotten about. Alfred could _hear_ very well. Even if his eyesight had return to some degree, Alfred had been relying on his hearing for far longer. His ears were attuned to pick up every sound, and he'd developed the ability to decode just about all of them. He could probably _hear_ the approaching officers. Hell, he probably had a close to accurate estimate of _how many_ were following them. He'd seen Alfred do some incredible things with just his hearing. Even though his poor sight left him at a disadvantage, he still had something the rest of them didn't. He could anticipate the officer's actions just by listening. Ludwig, on the other hand, couldn't hear anything past his own pulse and breathing.

Alfred leapt up and took off, and Ludwig followed his lead. Their paced increased, and Ludwig felt it begin to wear on him even more. His head was throbbing, his legs were shaking, and his lungs were burning. His body was nearly at its limit. And once he reached that limit, what was he supposed to do? If he just fell out and surrendered, he would be taking Arthur with him. But he couldn't fight it off much longer. His body was failing him.

A grenade sailed over his head—from _in font_ of them—and landed somewhere far behind their position, exploding on impact. Several pursuing officers screamed as the blast engulfed them. Alfred ground to a halt, and Ludwig and Ivan slowed until they'd caught up with him. Alfred was staring straight ahead at a figure in the distance. Ludwig honed in on the man, prepared to spy a gun aimed at them.

But there was no gun.

There was, however, a ghost.

Ludwig swore his heart stopped. He stared ahead with wide eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing. Because the man in front of him was _dead_. Long dead. Long gone. He'd accepted that. He'd accepted that he'd let another loved one down and…And yet…

And yet Gilbert stood at the edge of the woods, smiling smugly at him.

"Oi, _bruder,_ are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to escape?"

Gilbert. Gilbert was _alive_.

Another bullet flew past his head, and it brought him back down to reality. He took off at the same time Alfred and the Russian did, rushing forward. Gilbert paced himself until they caught up with him. Ludwig tried to memorize every detail of his brother's form. Gilbert was missing…missing an _arm_, and it made his stomach churn. He tried to calm himself. It was an _arm_. Gilbert still had his _life_, and that was far more important.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Not like Roderich. Gilbert was _alive_. Part of Ludwig's mind tried to convince him that he'd been killed and that all of this was just a hallucination, a fantasy. But the pain in his still injured body, the lingering fear that the SS would catch them any moment…those things were _real_, and if Gilbert was standing right _there_ alongside them, then he _had_ to be real too, right? He just _had_ to be.

"Follow my lead." Gilbert ordered. As soon as they breached the edge of the forest, he took a hard right, and Ludwig trailed closely behind him. In the distance, Ludwig spotted his salvation. There was a truck waiting for them. He didn't know who was inside it or why, but he felt a spark of hope ignite inside him, a spark that kept his fatigued body going, a spark that made him hold onto Arthur's lifeless form tighter. They rushed toward the awaiting vehicle as fast as they possibly could, and Ludwig knew, without a doubt, that they'd succeeded in escaping. Just as the truck door was thrown open at the moment of their arrival, the other SS officers emerged from the woods.

They were in the car and down the road before the officers even had a chance to react. Ludwig had basically thrown the Briton into truck, and he worriedly looked to the left to see if the man was even still breathing. He stiffened as he caught sight of who was next to him. _Matthew_ cradled the unconscious Arthur in his arms, pressing a thick cloth over the still weeping shoulder wound. He glanced at the driver's seat, blinking several times at the man driving the car. It was the _other_ spy they'd stayed with, the one called Eduard. He looked almost as bad as they did, his body covered in hastily tied bandages.

Ivan had jumped into the passenger seat, and all Ludwig could see was a glimpse of his heaving form. The man was panting loudly, putting pressure on his bleeding thigh. Ludwig's eyes traveled to Alfred, who'd climbed in last. He had his hands pressed against the passenger seat, breathing in deeply. He was scratched and bruised, most of the bandages covering his burns now bloody, dirt-stained, and coming undone. But he was _alive_, and he was in much better shape than the rest of them.

"Eduard," Ivan muttered, "where are we going?"

"To a safe house." The man answered. "It's a bit out of the way, unfortunately, but I don't want to take any chances."

"How long are we talking here?" Matthew asked worriedly. "Arthur needs medical attention _now_."

"I'm driving as fast as I can. But you have to understand, if they catch us, we are _all_ dead." Eduard didn't take his eyes off the road.

Matthew frowned deeply but said nothing else. He continued to apply pressure to Arthur's shoulder, running a hand through the man's now bloodied blond hair. Ludwig finally allowed himself to relax. Everyone was safe now. Alfred was alive. Matthew was alive. Arthur was alive.

Gilbert was alive.

His eyes finally settled on the figure of his brother, who was sitting in between the two front seats, directly across from him. He'd glazed over his brother for several minutes, still not sure he believed what his eyes were telling him, what his ears were hearing. One red eye met his own, the other obscured with a bandage.

"Hello, _bruder_." Gilbert said, his lips slowing curling up into a smile.

Ludwig had the intense urge to leap up and wrap his arms around his lost brother, but he somehow managed to contain himself. They would have time for that _later_. Because Gilbert was _alive_, which meant he could wait and _talk_ to his _bruder_. Later. Because there _was_ a later. There were a lot of laters. There was a tonight and a tomorrow and a morning and a noon. And during _all_ of those, he could talk to his brother, embrace his brother, be with his brother. Where there had been a "never again," there was now a "for the rest of their lives." Ludwig felt himself begin to tear up.

Gilbert snorted. "Do not tell me you are going to cry." Ludwig almost laughed at him. Gilbert was having a hard time hiding his own tears. But that had always been Gilbert, hadn't it? Acting tougher than he actually was. It was why Ludwig had always been so annoyed at him. But he couldn't possibly be annoyed now. He _wanted_ Gilbert to act this way. He wanted to see his brother grin and smirk and chuckle and prattle on about how he was better. He could listen to his brother's voice for the rest of his life, watch his brother's facial expressions as they shifted into the ones he remembered so well. And he would _never_ complain. Because he had been convinced he would _never_ see or hear those things again.

"I am well, _bruder_. I am very well." His voice cracked slightly.

Gilbert smiled. "Vell, good. Because I am too."

* * *

They pulled into the driveway of the house over an hour later, the moon high in the sky. Alfred tumbled out, and Ludwig shuffled out after him. He marched quickly around the car, helping Matthew carry the still unconscious Briton inside. Ludwig was surprised the man had made the trip. Hell, he was surprised he'd made the trip. His head was still pounding, but his vision was no longer wavering and his legs were no longer on the verge of giving out, so he was forced to consider this a successful escape.

A teenage boy met them at the door, escorting them inside where an older man was waiting for them, an assortment of medical supplies already prepped and waiting. The man immediately got to work on Arthur, and Ludwig retreated to the other side of the room as the rest of the group clambered in. Alfred looked ready to collapse, and it made Ludwig hyper-aware of the fact that Alfred was still very much suffering from his burns. He should have still been going through rehabilitation. He shouldn't have been stressing his still-injured body in the ways that he had over the last few weeks. If he did too much, he could potentially hurt himself _worse._

Ludwig slowly sank down into a chair in the corner, watching the surgery unfold. The older man made for a swift and efficient doctor. With the aide of the teenage boy, he stitched up Arthur's gunshot wound and the lacerations on his face. Matthew and the teenage boy carried the slumbering Briton away after that, Alfred trailing behind them, and Ivan volunteered to go next. Ludwig glanced at the man's thigh and cringed, realizing he'd lost _a lot_ of blood. How he hadn't passed out, Ludwig did not know.

"Hey."

Ludwig froze. Gilbert stood a few steps away from him. His nodded his head to the left, motioning toward the deck. Ludwig swallowed. He was tired and on the brink of just falling out right there, but he forced himself to his feet again and followed his brother outside. The cool night air soothed him, and he shrugged his tense shoulders before turning to the face the brother he'd been so convinced he'd lost.

Gilbert leaned against the door, a relieved smile on his lips. "I vas vorried about you, you know? I spent such a long time vondering vhat you vere doing vithout me. I vas convinced that something terrible vould happen to you."

"Nothing more terrible than your death could possibly happen to me." He replied, his voice shaking wildly.

Gilbert's gaze softened. "Funny, that vas the same thing I vas going to say to you."

Ludwig wasn't sure how long he stood there, hugging his brother like the world was about to end. And personally, he didn't care.

* * *

**Dro:** Eh, a little too fluffy for my tastes, but it had to be done.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred talks to Ludwig. Alfred then talks to Ivan. Ivan then talks to Matthew. Matthew then talks to Arthur. There's a lot of talking. And a lot of...er..._tension_.


	40. Of Silence & Discussion

**Dro:** Getting so close to that last major turning point. Can't wait for it! Have at it, people!

**Chapter Summary: **There's a lot of talking. And a lot of tension.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Dro still doesn't own APH, guys. My random breaks were not trips to coerce the owners of APH to give it to me. I promise.

* * *

Alfred tiptoed down the stairs. This house was old, and each board creaked slightly as he pressed on them with the pads of his toes, but he moved as quietly as he could. The silence, while it did allow him to think clearly, was rather disorienting. He was sure things hadn't been _this_ quiet since he'd been back in the abandoned farm house. That seemed like a decade ago already, and it gave Alfred a strange feeling of nostalgia that he found ironic. He'd been nearly immobile back then and equally as restless, and he'd been dying to get out of that place and back into the world. Now, he just wanted _peace_ again. He hated this constant threat of death and injury that seemed to trail them everywhere they went.

He knew that if they successfully made it past either front, they would likely be home free, but at this point, he had no idea where he was going or how he was going to get there. Ivan's mind was _mangled_ from Toris' death, and he didn't seem to be interested in keeping prisoners any longer. So where did that leave them? They could easily slip away from the Russian and head back toward France, though it was likely they were further away from France than they were from the eastern German border at this point. He honestly wasn't sure which direction to go. With the SS hot on their trails, he wasn't sure they could even go back west to begin with. For all he knew, heading toward Russia might very well have been their only remaining option.

He shook his head. He _needed_ some more noise. Too much thinking was just confusing him further. He scouted the living room. The house was still lit with a few sparse lights, though most of its current occupants were asleep. At least one other was still awake, however. He'd heard Ludwig's lumbering gait descend down the stairs a few minutes prior, and he'd quickly followed. He didn't know where the German man had gone after he'd made it to the lower level, but he found out pretty quickly.

Ludwig sat in his direct line of sight, splayed out on an old couch. Alfred was slightly embarrassed that he couldn't tell whether Ludwig was awake or not at this distance. And probably not at any _distance_, for that matter. "Sight" was a bit of a stretch. He could see colors and shapes—technically—but everything was so blurry that he might as well as been peering through a sheet of paper. From his position at the bottom of the stairs, he could Ludwig only as a flesh-colored blur covered with a huge dark blotch—his clothing. The lamp on the table nearest to him was just a bright ball of light. What he guessed was a coffee table looked like a big, square-like brown blob. A lot of the colors seemed to blend together, and many smaller objects were undistinguishable from the things next to them. He couldn't tell where some things ended and others began, and there were probably a multitude of things that he couldn't even tell were there.

But it was better than darkness. _Anything_ was better than the darkness.

He quietly shuffled into the room, unsure as to whether Ludwig could hear him or not. He got his answer as the blur moved.

"Alfred?" He sat up and—Alfred assumed—stared.

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you asleep?" He yawned as he spoke. Apparently, Alfred wasn't the only one who needed sleep.

"Same reason you aren't, I guess." He moved toward the sofa and sank down as Ludwig moved out of the way to make him room. Even at this distance, Ludwig was nearly featureless. His shape became slightly more defined, but there was no proximity at which Alfred's vision actually came into focus. His eyes were too damaged to have recovered to that point. He'd probably never see much better this. But he would take what he could get. He was able to refinish Ludwig's portrait in his mind now. He'd been rather close, but now he could see exactly how tall, how wide Ludwig was. He could see the exact shade of his hair, and if he got close enough, he knew he'd be able to see Ludwig's eye color. Just a glimpse was all he needed.

Before he could get it, Ludwig embraced him gently. "Are you all right?" Ludwig sighed into his ear.

He smiled. "Fine. A few bruises. A few scratches. But I'm fine. You?"

"Slightly worse off than yourself. But I am also well." Ludwig moved away from him and resettled into his former position. "How is Arthur doing?"

Alfred frowned. "He's…okay. But he lost a lot of blood. He might be unconscious for a while. But he'll live. _If_ we don't get attacked again soon." Alfred leaned in closer, trying to get that one glimpse. "How's Gilbert?"

Just as those blurry blue irises became to visible to him, Ludwig replied. "He is very much alive and still himself. He has lost much, but he has not given up. Even with an arm missing, he still maintains his usual demeanor."

Satisfied, Alfred pulled away, grinning. "Sounds like Gilbert. I'm glad he's all right. I haven't had much time to talk to him yet."

Before he could react, Ludwig leaned over and kissed him softly. "I have regained some of my faith now, Alfred, and I firmly believe that at some point in the future, you will have all the time in the world to talk with him."

Alfred felt himself blush and nodded. "I hope so. I really do. I'm ready to get out of this mess."

"As am I."

"So, does this mean that…that you're coming all the way with us? Both you and Gilbert? You're going to _officially _defect now?"

Ludwig chuckled. "Alfred, I defected a long time ago."

* * *

With morning came a rush of activity, and Alfred washed and dressed him as best he could, redoing his remaining bandages quickly. Most of his minor burns were long gone, but the worst ones still looked rather nasty, at least from pseudo-sight's point of view. He crept down the hall and peaked through a crack in the door of the room where Arthur had been placed. Arthur had not awoken yet, and Mattie was asleep in a chair at his bedside. Smiling to himself, Alfred turned around to head downstairs, only to come face to face with Ivan. With some hint of vision returned to him, Ivan suddenly seemed a lot more imposing.

He'd been imposing before, of course. But now Alfred could _see_ the mountain of a man that stood in front of him. Ivan apparently caught on. "How do I look to you, American boy?" He seemed mildly amused, but his usual zeal was lost, his typical act damaged from Toris' death.

"Like a very wide, tall, pale…person." Ivan looked slightly different than he'd imagined. They were as close as he was willing to get to the man, and he noticed several things that made him reevaluate Ivan. Ivan's hair was a pale shade, closer to a white than a blond. And his eyes. Alfred could see them glinting in the light that shone in through the window behind him. Ivan's eyes lit up like amethysts. There was something very…_cold_ about the color. He wasn't sure why that word seemed to apply here, but for some reason…it just…_did_. He'd expected to see the heat and fury and spark of cockiness that came through in Ivan's voice and actions, but it just wasn't _there_. It wasn't reflected in his eyes.

He knew Ivan's personality was a mask, but he hadn't known it was quite this bad, nor he had known it was quite this _obvious_. When he'd had no sight whatsoever, he'd been forced to slowly decipher Ivan's act, but now…now it was just out there for everyone to see. Perhaps that was the way he intimidated people. Perhaps this coldness and his playful heat worked in tandem. The thought made him shiver.

"You are feeling fine, da?"

"Yes…" He wasn't sure what Ivan wanted with him today, and his mind flashed back to their kiss again. He forced himself to concentrate. "How about you?"

"I am feeling better for the moment." He turned his head to the side. "I was going to see your brother, but it appears he is still sleeping."

Ivan wanted to see _Mattie_? What was _that_ about? Of course, Ivan had done _something_ to Mattie, something he still hadn't figured out yet.

"I will be returning later then." He whipped around and marched off down the stairs before Alfred could stop him.

Great. Just what he needed. _Another_ mystery to solve.

* * *

Matthew awoke to the sound of the door creaking open. He blinked tiredly and turned toward the sound, only to see Ivan emerging through the doorway. He sat up, gasping, trying to remember where he was. It all came back to him a moment later as he spotted Arthur still laying—pale and unconscious—on the bed before him. He began to relax, but he kept a close eye on the Russian.

"Can I help you?"

Ivan wouldn't meet his gaze. Instead, he stared warily at Arthur. "Meet me later, da? Outside on the deck is fine. Just make sure you are alone. Perhaps come to me after breakfast? They are making it now." With that, he turned around and marched out the room, looking more awkward with each step.

Matthew sat still, completely confused as to what had just occurred. It had almost sounded like Ivan's last few "invitations," but there was something _else_ in his voice that had most certainly not been there before. He'd heard about the man called Toris, and he wondered just what kind of effect the man's death had had on Ivan to make him act so out of character. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked away the last tendrils of sleep and gazed down at Arthur's motionless form. He was still white as a sheet, and that scared Matthew greatly, but the older man had told him that Arthur would survive, and at this point, he had no choice but to trust these people.

He rose to his feet and made to leave the room, but he paused before he took his first step. He glanced at Arthur and then to the open door. Before he could stop himself, he bent down and kissed Arthur's cheek. "Wake up soon," he whispered in the man's ear. He excused himself before he let it go any further.

He met Al and the others at the breakfast table, and he hugged his brother tightly before settling down in his chair. If he had anything at all to be happy for right now, it was that they were back together again. During the escapade with the river, Matthew had been terrified that he was going to lose track of Al again. Now that that was no longer a possibility, he allowed himself to feel a hint of peace for the first time in a long while. It was refreshing. As far as he knew, the SS wasn't still hot on their trail and there were no more rivers they would have to be floating down. At least for now. All of that could change as soon as they left this house, but for now, they were here, and there was food and medicine, and a place to sleep. And Al and Arthur. And those were the only things he needed to live.

He surprised himself by heading toward the deck after he'd finished eating. He'd asked Al to go check on Arthur, telling a little white lie that he was seeking out Gilbert. The morning air was cool, and he spotted Ivan leaning against the railing, eyes focused on the nearby trees. He cautiously approached.

"You wanted something?" He hoped that something didn't involve any touching.

"Da."

When Ivan said nothing more, Matthew started to fidget. "Well, what is it?"

Finally, Ivan turned to face him, and Matthew froze. There was something in Ivan's eyes that he had _never_ seen before, and it shook him. Hard. Because it was something he wasn't sure the man could possibly feel.

True and absolute regret.

"I wanted to tell you that I am sorry."

* * *

**Dro:** Ah, Ivan, you're bipolar personality is quite amazing.

**Next Chapter: **Arthur wakes up. Matthew tries to talk to him. They're interrupted.


End file.
